


The Curious Life of Tom Evans

by Cepheus_Noir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Paris, Beauxbatons, Cold War, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, French Characters, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Horcrux AU, Soul Magic, Spinners End, Tom hates Dumbeldore, World War II, Worldbuilding, deep discussions, poc characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cepheus_Noir/pseuds/Cepheus_Noir
Summary: Tom believed he created his first horcrux correctly, and continued on his path to Dark Lordom.Little did he know his mistakes would eventually lead to his downfall.orA tale wherein the Diary horcrux fights for the right to live free of Voldemort's shadow.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley, Tom Riddle & Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Surname?

**Chapter 1**

“Where’d you find him?”

“On the road from Little Hangleton.”

He doesn’t know what a Little Hangleton is.

“Do you think he’s related to what happened to the Riddles?”

“You didn’t see when he came in covered in black blood. Reckon the murderer got him too.”

Feeling enters his bones, thoughts flash in his mind.

_A journal entry of Rosier being a cad._

_Grey London skies humming with planes._

_Disdain at waves on a gloomy English beach._

_“Bone of the Father, unwillingly given”_

The last one snaps his eyes open.

“Oi, Mary! He’s awake!”

His limbs are stiff, moving as a newborn. He’s helped up by an older man with a piercing gaze; a stranger to him. An older woman in white enters the room, eyes lighting up at his awkward movements.

“Finally! Five days is far too long for a coma.” He can’t tell if he’s supposed to be shocked at the fact.

“What’s your name, dear?” He flinches at her question. He doesn’t like her attention, but he doesn’t know why. It doesn’t help that his brain feels thick with pea soup.

“Tom?” his answer comes out shaky. It’s the first name floating in the fog. The man turns to stare.

“Any relation to them Riddles?” Tom’s hackles rise unbidden. The name fills him with disgust as he shakes his head.

“Dr. Bennett, I told you he isn’t the culprit.”

“Nurse Evans, I will be the judge of that.”

“Tell that to the constables,” she mutters. Tom smirks at the subdued barb. When Dr. Bennett’s criminal questioning ultimately yields no answers, he switches to uncovering Tom’s identity.

“Surname?”

“Um, Surname?” Dr. Bennett’s eyebrows rise, and he turns to Nurse Evans.

“Did they X-ray his skull?”

“Yes, no bone damage. But besides the dark blood, he had signs of a concussion before the coma set in.”

“Hmm…we’ll need to monitor him for a few days, see if his memory comes back.”

Tom decides he doesn’t like Dr. Bennett very much. He’d have to wait and see about Nurse Evans.

* * *

Days become weeks and Tom carries on the same. A spark of memory here, a flash of sensation there, but very little before the accident.

Retrograde amnesia they call it. Nurse Evans says it’s rare for it to last so long. Tom shrugs and simply focuses on learning (or relearning?) how to walk. The cane they give him feels off. It should be shorter, he argues.

_Yew and Phoenix Feather. Thirteen inches._

They tell him to be patient. He does not find patience to his liking.

* * *

His boredom leads him to break into the hospital dispensary. The chemicals remind him of school.

_“Remember to crush those sophorous beans into paste, Tom”_

Without anything to busy his mind, he looks for the recipes and begins to prepare them. When Dr. Oswald finally flags down Nurse Evans, Tom has half of the patients’ doses ready. Upon inspection, Oswald describes them as flawless.

Nurse Evans now brings the apothecary to him in the mornings, and under Oswald’s supervision, Tom’s life as a hospital chemist begins.

* * *

“Stop fidgeting, soldiers don’t bite.” Nurse Evans carries his cane just in case.

“Good. If they did, I’d have them hung.” Her no-nonsense look appears, and Tom fidgets again. He didn’t used to fidget when scolded.

“I’m sure Prime Minister Churchill would love to hear how you sabotaged the war effort,” she retorts. That sets off roiling laughter. He didn’t used to laugh either.

The soldiers’ wing is louder than the rest of the hospital, it reminds him of orphanages he must’ve once seen. None of those quasi-memories inspire confidence right now.

One by one, the soldiers take their pills, their potions, and their balms, putting on brave faces and blinking back tears as they say ‘thanks ma’am, thanks sir’. It rouses something inside Tom he’s sure he’s never felt before.

_“Please have mercy,” screamed the old woman. “This is mercy,” he replies as the flash of green steals the life from her eyes._

“Tom?” Nurse Evans grabs his back and holds his cane out, effortlessly swapping it for the tray of drugs. Her kindness warms him for the rest of their rounds.

* * *

“He can’t stay here.” Ah, the Magnificent Dr. Bennett has deigned to come in today, Tom muses.

“Dr. Oswald has already taken him on.” He feels relieved Nurse Evans supports him. No one’s done that before. 

“That doesn’t mean he can occupy a hospital bed. There are wounded from the Atlantic and North Sea pouring in by the day.”

“We still haven’t found his identity.” 

"It's been nearly four months and no one knows who he is." He hates to agree with Bennett, but he prefers bitter truth to sweet lies. 

_Unless he did the lying._

"You can't kick a child onto the streets"

"If you care that much, take him." A beat of silence.

"With pleasure."

Nurse E-Mary shows him his new room in her flat that night.

* * *

  
  


"So why are we setting these pine branches up?" 

"Tom it's almost Christmas, dear."

"Oh" Had it really been that long? He's sure he was supposed to have started classes by now, but the institution's name escapes him.

_"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

No, definitely a fever dream that one. Mary doesn't mind his dreams, tells Tom he should be a writer. He doesn't tell her the dreams where he sees himself torturing schoolmates, asking about soul pieces, or summoning mammoth snakes.

"Now, since you're here, we are going to get the tree together." He wants to groan at all this...Christmas cheer, but it's better than stewing in nightmares.

* * *

January 1944. New recruits and reservists arrive at Great Hangleton hospital en masse. Americans, Australians and a smattering of others come for physical check ups and shots. But it’s the Canadians who spend the most time there. Tom and Dr. Oswald rally to meet demand. 

The soldiers quickly take a liking to Tom. Part of him thinks it weird for him to enjoy their friendship too.

_"There are no friends in Slytherin."_

But there are friends in the 8th Brigade. Murray from Hamilton, rough round the edges and eager to fight. Lussier from Laval with sharp wit and handyman hands, and Yap from North Vancouver, with a chip on his shoulder and dreams bigger than his homeland. Mary smiles at him whenever he's laughing alongside his newfound mates, but he never fails to see her creased brow and tense posture. He hopes it's temporary.

* * *

  
  


“I’d like to take young Tom here as a field medic.” Dr. Oswald looks at Tom with ‘ _what have you done?’_ look, but the military commander pays no mind. 

“Major, I am not fully trained,” he replies. 

“There is still time before we ship out.” Tom wants to say no. He may not remember much, but bombs falling on London still explode in his mind. The battlefront would be much worse.

“Sir, I think I have to think it over. The work I’m doing here is hard to replace, and I wouldn’t want to leave that role unfilled.” The Canadian armyman smiles anyway.

“What a noble man! That’s the kind of attitude we need when we go to beat the Nazis.” He leaves Tom to stew for days.

His mates are chuffed that he’ll be joining them.

Dr. Oswald assures him that he needn’t worry.

Dr. Bennett tells him to get out of his hair already.

Mary...hugs him and tells him that duty is not easy, but must be done anyway. He tells her he’s afraid to die. He knows he hasn’t told anyone before. She gives him a cross and tells him to carry it close whenever he’s afraid.

He doesn’t know that a faint spark of magic weaves a protego into the crucifix.

“When this is over, can I come back here?” he asks.

“You better or I’d have you hung,” she replies, his dark humour finally rubbing off on her.

And so Pvt. Tom Evans reported to the 8th Canadian Infantry Brigade, oblivious that the rest of his soul was on its way to becoming a Dark Lord.


	2. Amour et Guerre

**Chapter 2**

Juno Beach is hell.

The roar of waves and exploding mortars deafen Tom. The smell of saltwater, gunmetal and flesh have cost him his rations, and eventually his appetite.

He scans the beach for the injured, setting bones and pulling out bullets, blissfully unaware that his flickering sparks of magic are helping him heal them, the cross he carries weakening the shots aimed at him. 

“Oi Papery!" He can barely hear Murray's voice. "Get over here. Lussier is down!” Moving through the surge of soldiers while dodging German barrage is no easy feat. He arrives to a ruptured Femoral Artery. 

“Touk you long ineuf, Pépery,” chokes Lussier. 

“Arrêt! No talking for you,” says Tom, focusing on the injury. It’s a losing battle.

“Is funny, non? You.. are se one wit paper skin...and ink blood, and now... look who iz bleeding out.” Tom finishes tying off the wound, but he knows it's too late for Lussier. That’ll be number twenty today. Just another number that he doesn’t wish to join. 

He waits with Lussier till he stops talking. He closes the soldier’s eyelids, and moves on before a shell lands beside him, and the world flashes white. He doesn't see the crucifix protego shimmer, buckle and finally shatter, shoving him into a foxhole.

He’s concussed again, he knows it. So when he watches a woman materialize out of thin air, stick a bottle in Lussier’s mouth and shove him beside Tom, he is pretty sure this another one of his colourful dreams. It takes two days for British forces to pick the two up, surprisingly still alive. Lussier claims he came back from the dead. Tom still can't figure out how.

_ Magic. _

Operation Overlord advances.

* * *

  
  


French Resistance medics drive him insane. Everything they do is different, and despite his limited knowledge of French (thank you Lussier), the tension is sometimes palpable.

They’re outside Caen helping civilians one night. 

_ “Those filthy muggles can rot for all I care,” “Abraxas, don’t lower yourself to anger for something so insignificant as a muggle,” _

He shakes off the thought as twenty of them pair off, one Brit with one Francais, leaving him with a woman that everyone else avoids. He’s pretty sure his colleagues are judging her skin tone which doesn’t sit right with him. People treated him that way once.

_ “Get away from me, Freak!” _

“So which group are we working with?”

“Orphans in Camp A,” she replies in fluent English. He momentarily gapes like a fish. 

“Yes, well, lead the way, madame.”

“Kama”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. Léonine Kama. Yours?”

“Oh! Um, Tom Evans.” 

“Enchantée,” They walk awkwardly to Camp A. The children here are malnourished and sick. He remembers Great Depression London, everyone too thin, every one too hungry. Both of them begin checking temperatures, handing out medicine, prepping needles, and trying to comfort scared refugees. 

Tom struggles with his French, and the children giggle at the  _ Rosbif _ . Leonine, pitying the Brit, begins translating as she works alongside. 

“So what’s England like?” one asks.

“Rainy,” he replies.

“Dr. Kama, what’s ‘rainy’?”

“Pluvieux”

“Oh. What about Sénégal?”

“Pas pluvieux,” she replies smiling. Tom smirks alongside giggling children. The medics both sigh from relief once check ups are done.

“And that’s a night,” he says as the last kid scampers back to the tents. 

“I’m glad there’s hope again,” she replies wistfully. Tom catches her smile glinting in the moonlight. “The sooner Grindelwald is gone, the better.”

“Grindelwald? Is he one of Hitler’s bastard lackeys?” Her eyes go wide and she tenses up again.

“Euhh, yes! The worst of them all!” she replies emphatically. The name is familiar to him, but again the reason escapes him. He just remembers people uttering it with reverence.

“Is that why you fight?”

“He captured me and killed my brother”

“...”

“I’m sorry.” he replies, unsure of what else to say.

“And you? Quelle est votre raison de lutte?”

“My Reason for Lute?”

“Why do you fight, Monsieur Evans?” He feels almost embarrassed to say, especially after her story.

“I..watched the bombs fall on London, and I was afraid to die...I  _ am _ afraid to die. I’m here so the Krauts can’t hold that over me anymore.” She stares at him and nods. Neither of them says much as they return to the military camp that night.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The army advances and Tom is busy day in, day out. He enjoys days when Léonine joins him, despite the weird looks from his soldiers. She and Yap make fast friends, and Lussier eventually comes around. She tells him of her family friends Nagini, Tina, Jacob and Newt. They're all fighting elsewhere she says, and Tom can't help but wonder where. They pop in a week later, literally undetected. 

Tom is sure the sticks they try to hide have something to do with it.

* * *

  
  


When the army liberates Paris, Léonine is barred from the victory parade. Tom sits it out with her, to the shock of his comrades. 

"You didn't have to do that," 

"I know, but I wanted to."

_ "I am the heir of slytherin. Bow before me!" He revels in the glory of pure blood scions bowing to their new master. _

He banishes the thought and they watch the sunset from Saint Cloud. Their friends find them sharing a kiss.

Three weeks of grunt work was worth it.

* * *

As the army pushes north, they stay in touch through letters. Lussier's mate Tremblay keeps teasing, declaring that Papery found his Ink. Tom just threatens to stick a pint of insulin in his next ration. Both know it's a joke. 

Tom vaguely remembers his jokes were once lethal.

They are in Belgium when he sees her again. Though it's what she's doing that surprises him more. 

Walking back to the medical tent, he catches flashes in a thicket. In the fading starlight, he sees her levitating tank parts with a baton, mending them with unnatural speed. She is a conductor and the metal is her orchestra.

_ "Excellent reparo, Tom! Ten points for Slytherin." _

He coughs and she flinches. Her baton sends a bolt of light in his direction. He barely dodges it before calling her name. 

"Léonine!"

"Dammit!" She mutter-yells. "Tom, go back to sleep. This...is a dream!"

"I've seen this before, " he replied as calmly as he could. It's hard since he's excited. Perhaps his dreams aren't fantasy after all. "That's a reparo!...I think."

"Your memories are returning?" She looks skeptical.

He shares what he remembers, what he conjectures, and what he's guessed about Léonine and her friends. That she saved his life at Juno, that magic exists, that it's a part of the war, and that he used to know about it too. She confirms what he guesses but doesn't give him more. It makes sense to him. For all she knows he's a really smart muggle, like Jacob it turns out.

When he's done he sits and waits for her response.

"Take my wand."

"What?" 

"Tom Evans, if you believe you had magic, take my wand and light it." He pulls it out of her hand and gives it a careful wave. No response. He crinkles his brow, trying to remember the word, the feeling that this stick should elicit. 

Then, a flickering spark, stuttering in and out of existence, brightens the wand. He nearly passed out, smiling as she sighs in relief. It is rare for his magic to pop up afterwards, but for the pair it's enough.. 

Léonine is glad she doesn't have to obliviate her boyfriend.

* * *

Over the winter, Tom gets permission from the Queen’s Own Rifles to join Léonine’s team for a mission. When Tina Scamander questions them, they pass him off as a squib. Only now does Tom realize that he and Léonine are much younger than the others. He’s not sure how he feels about being the weak link. Nagini tells him to play his strengths and not get killed. Not the most rousing of inspirational speeches. 

“Medecin, just think about it,” says Léonine. “You know more than you think.”

It turns out being the medic and possessing above average skill with firearms helps them rescue dozens of Dutch prisoners that night. And it only cost him a finger nail and a wicked scar on his cheek. Léonine treats his wounds after he treated everyone else, his ink-black blood confusing everyone. He tells them it’s the reason they call him Papery. Jacob calls him lucky to be alive, Tom attributes his luck to Aunt Mary’s broken crucifix. He chooses not to comment on the purple scar on Léonine’s back. 

The shiny new George’s Cross he gets doesn’t compare to the feeling of saving the prisoners with his friends.

But it’s enough to silence the dark parts of him that mock his newfound ‘weakness’.

* * *

Another friend is killed in western Germany. Yap and Lussier and Tom bury him in early Spring. As the army pushes into the “homebound stretch”, he has less time for magical “sidequests”. Part of him feels he should care more that he can’t be there, but he feels content to be where he is now. His skill as an army medic improves by the day, and his mates need him. Best of all, he knows Léonine loves him whether they are together or apart.

_ “I always knew I was different,” _

Not anymore, he smiles.

  
  


Léonine kisses him when she brings the news of Grindelwald’s defeat. He proposes to her when he brings her the news of Hitler’s. 

And somewhere in Scotland, the rest of Tom’s rapidly degrading soul plans for life after Hogwarts, immortality within reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest We Forget
> 
> Happy Remembrance Day to all you Canadians and Brits.  
> Happy Veterans Day you Americans.


	3. Winning the Peace

**Chapter 3**

Parisian Wizardry was stupid. They literally fought a war against the bigotry of Grindelwald, only to react with the same reflex to Tom and Léonine’s engagement. Their disdain for ‘cracmols’ boils his blood. Tina and Newt are very supportive, and Jacob floods him with tips on dealing with the snobs, nifflers coming up most often. Nagini tells him she could get rid of them if he’d like. No one would know. 

He secretly revels in the chaos of that suggestion. 

Léonine tries to take it in stride.

“Cheri, unfortunately, les Magicaux are quite judgemental.”

“You are a war hero, on par with that Dumbdoor,” he replies.

“Dumbledore, love.” 

“I meant what I said.” He doesn’t like the mere mention of that man.

“It doesn’t matter what they say,” she says. He knows she’s lying through her teeth. He’s seen the hurt in her eyes, the weight on her shoulders, the flinch after every micro betrayal.

It reminds him of a quasi forgotten orphanage, where no one came close to him from fear. It reminds him of Caen, where soldiers judged her as lesser for her appearance.

“Yes it does,” he replies hugging her close. “You deserve better.”

“We both do,” she replies.

* * *

  
  


To his dismay, Aunt Mary hardly reacted any better. The first day, the awkwardness is butter-thick. Anytime Tom shares a war story she gushes over him. When Léonine does the same, catty remarks fly from her mouth.

It ends in a row between Tom and Mary, he and Léonine electing to sleep at the local Inn.

“This was a mistake,” he sighs, slipping into bed beside her.

“No, love you tried.”

“Is it bad for me to become a Kama, instead of you an Evans?”

“Only if you think it's bad,” she chuckles. 

“I should’ve made her see!” he hisses, eyes flashing red.

“How?” she challenges. Dark thoughts spring to life, and curses sing behind his lips. A soft hand cools his rage, and as he returns from the unwanted place, he sees Léonine’s worried eyes. 

“Tom. If she doesn’t come around, we will find a way.” He sighs, knowing she’s right. He just wishes he didn’t have to lose anyone, especially family. 

_You never had any, freak!_

That isn’t true. Not anymore.

* * *

They decide to visit Oswald at the hospital anyway. Tom is excited to see his old mentor, and the now-greying man feels the same. Well into their two hour conversation he realises that Léonine has wandered off. 

“Uhh-”

“Tom, don’t look at me, last I saw her was before we looked at the new batch of penicillin.”

So the hunt begins. The hospital is quieter now that the war is over. Dr. Bennett’s pompousness makes up for it all the same.

He finds Léonine helping a newborn child. Opposite her is Mary Evans cleaning the mother’s sheets. 

“Is she alright?” asks the anxious mother.

“Just a little hungry,” replies Léonine. Even on vacation, medical vocation pulls her in.

“Has your milk come in yet?” Mary asks the mother. 

“Just this morning,” replies the tired woman.

“If you’re having issues, make sure to supplement your daughter’s feedings with some pablum,’” suggests Léonine.

“Yes! And if you want, we have a breast pump here at the hospital you can use,” adds Aunt Mary.

“Could you please bring it? I would like to try,” 

“Of course, we’ll go get it.” With that, Tom watches his fiancee and adopted mother-figure leave to fetch a pump, comparing patients' stories. The tension is still there, Tom sees that. But they’re trying.

Maybe he should try too.

* * *

He shows Mary the broken crucifix, and she smiles.

“It took a shell on D Day.” he tells her.

“I told you it would work,” she replies.

They laugh as they try to fix it. Léonine eventually joins them, eventually coaxing it back together. Neither Evans realizes that she'd reapplied the shattered protection charms back in Normandy, though she smiles as Tom tries to suss out her secrets with his eyebrows. 

* * *

  
  


Canada in October is cold. Yap told him it was nicer on the West Coast, and Murray once said that August in Paris felt like Ontario, but now Tom is not so sure.

“You are lucky this year, Pépery,” says Lussier...or actually Armand, since it would be impractical for Tom to call his friend by surname in his own house.

“Why’s that?” He is glad he wore an extra wool jumper.

“Well sometimes it's snowing by now.” It reminds him of Scotland.

One of the many places he has now quasi visited.  
  


“We are going to visit my family in Senegal after this,” bites Léonine, and Armand’s family laughs. Jacob joins them the week of the Montreal victory parade, and they all finally get to meet Jacob’s mysterious wife (and Tina’s mysterious sister), Queenie. Despite her bubbly attitude, Tom can tell it's a front.

“Tina told me she got caught on the wrong side of the war,” is all his fiancée will tell him. 

_Action de Grace_ is very good entertainment for the non North Americans

(L: It iz better sen de American one! J: Those are fighting words!) before they march in the Toronto victory parade. 

With all the veteran’s bureaucracy handled, Tom finally lets her activate their portkey at the sign of the first snowflakes.

* * *

Where Canada was cooling at this time of year, Sénégal was heating up. Léonine told him that the wet season was over, so they didn’t have to worry about mosquitoes. Tom wonders if he would trade the sunburn for the infernal bugs.

Léonine's great aunt, Mama Sidonie, sums up their shock best.

"Mais il est un fantôme, chéri! Your children will be able to walk through walls!"

"Mami, be nice, he came to visit you."

"Well at least he had the sense to come and ask for my blessing.”

The visit carries on as a whirlwind of cultural catch-up. Customs, food, clothing, magic, dance, family interactions. Tom tries to soak up everything he can for Léonine’s sake.

_He’s done it before, he can do it again._

Late one night while watching the stars, he hears his soon-to-be wife chatting with a distant cousin.

“Has he fed you a love potion?”

_"Ar, he left her, and serves her right, marrying filth!"_

“N’deye! This isn’t one of your murder mysteries.”

“But Nini...why him?” Silence fills the void.

“When I first met him properly, he didn’t look down on me. He tried to see me for who I was. Who I am. He valued me, not as a medic, not as a witch, not as a Kama, but as Léonine.” 

“Now who’s the one with her head in the books.”

“Tch, Stop! I love him.” Tom’s heart flutters in ways he never knew possible.

“Yeah, I see that. What about your plans to be a healer?”

“Doctor, N’deye, big difference.”

“Rosbif won’t stand in the way of that?”

“No. I can’t explain it, but he wants me to shine bright for the both of us.”

They carry on but Tom can’t stop thinking about the effect he’s had on Léonine. He never thought he had that kind of power. To lift rather than destroy.

_“Nott, there is only power, and those too weak seize it.”_

He decides he’d rather embrace this new mantra rather than the old one. Years later, when swirling in the dark, he’d still remember her words and try his best to live up to them.

* * *

They marry in St. Cloud, the flowers beginning to bloom. Tom wishes his army mates could see this, but some have active-duty in post-war Germany. So he settles on Jacob and Newt as groomsmen. Nagini, Tina, and N’deye are bridesmaids, and other than a handful of family members, it’s a small affair. To Tom’s delight, Aunt Mary comes with her blessing, and an embarrassing number of gifts for the happy couple.

“But your savings!”

“Tom, my child, I can do whatever I want with my savings! Pay me back later with grandchildren.” 

They settle into a comfortable life in Méricourt, where Tom is hired by a local chemist who tailors to Magicaux and Moldu alike. He’s glad his wages are in Bezants and Canuts rather than Francs. Léonine enrolls at La Sorbonne for medicine, eager to enhance her magical training with modern research. 

If not for the dreams of Borgin and Burkes, dark rituals and shameless murder, he would count those days as the best in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underlined words - Foreign language, usually French.  
> Italics mid sentence - Language codeswitching
> 
> Full Italics - Memory/Horcrux thought
> 
> cracmol-squib
> 
> Action de Grace - Thanksgiving (Canadian one)
> 
> Mais il est un fantôme, chéri! - But he is a ghost, dear!
> 
> Rosbif - French slang for a Briton
> 
> St. Cloud - Fancy suburb in Western Paris
> 
> Méricourt - North-East Inner Paris
> 
> Moldu-Muggle
> 
> Bezant- According to the wiki, french magical currency
> 
> Canut- Knut
> 
> La Sorbonne - The Oxford-Cambridge of French academia
> 
> Any thing I missed, let me know.  
> Cheers!


	4. Little Basilisk

**Chapter 4**

Yusuf Arthur Kama-Evans is born at noon, New Years Day, 1947. Somehow, he knows it's an omen. 

_ “I heard she delivered on New Years Eve, took one look at him, and died from the fright!” _

Regardless, Tom can’t stop staring at the caramel bundle in his arm. His child, their child. He has Tom’s nose, Léonine’s hair, their shared dark eyes. This child is different from all the other’s he’s met. The emotions are hard to explain, but he’ll settle for the word ‘love’ to describe them. 

Léonine smiles weakly before passing out from blood loss. She wouldn’t wake for three days.

* * *

It takes months for Léonine to recover from childbirth. Tom shoulders the burden of baby raising with help from Aunt Mary, who hops over the channel without batting an eyelash to help. His days are now spent rotating between the chemist’s, the bakery, and their flat. He doesn’t dare enter Place Cachée alone. 

The Parisian gossip mill declared him a gold-digger. Rumours of his wife’s murder fill the cafes on Boulevard Voltaire. Tina tells him the auror’s office doesn’t take any of it seriously. Verbal daggers are hard to ignore nonetheless. He takes comfort in the fact he is not a murderer.

_ Myrtle Warren’s soulless eyes stare back at him at night. _

When Léonine is finally walking again, he notices her purple scar has grown.

She still refuses to talk about it.

Then again his worst secrets remain hidden, so he doesn’t push further.

* * *

“I’m going back to school this fall,” she says. He doesn’t want to talk about this now.

“You can barely walk.”

“Pepper-up and café will suffice.”

“You haven’t even been out of the flat yet,” 

“Then we remedy that today. Yusuf needs out too.”

“No.” His voice is hard, a rarity now; it's a conscious attempt to distance himself from that forgotten childhood.

“No?”

“You aren’t ready.” She stares at him defiantly, picks up her child, summons her coat, and walks out the door. It takes a minute for him to recover from the shock. He scrambled to grab his coat and keys and flies after her. 

He catches her at Place de la République, collapsed in a chair while Yusuf shuffles around on a cafe table. His rage is crawling under his skin, channeling echoes of someone else’s violence. 

_ “Imperio, it solves all your problems Tom.” “Would you like to be the first volunteer, Lestrange?” _

Then Tom sees the tears. He breathes and lets the roaring waters recede. He walks up slowly, picking up her discarded wand, before giving her a strong hug. She creates a privacy ward as they weep together for the struggles they face. 

“I don’t want to lose my chance,” she sniffles.

“You won’t,” he assures.

“There’s no guarantee for that.”

“Then we’ll make sure you’re ready.” Yusuf crawls into their laps and Léonine casts an umbrella charm as the rain begins to fall.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he finally mumbles.

“There’s no guarantee for that,” she replies.

“Using my words against me?”

“No, just reminding you that this life is temporary.” 

_ “Professor, can you tell me about Horcruxes?” _

“I resent that.” His wife looks up, confused.

“Why?”

“Because what’s beyond it? Is there anything?” he huffs.

“I know there’s something there.”

“How?”

“Soul magic.” One hour-long conversation on soul magic ensues. It’s what Tom needed to hear years ago.Yusuf makes gurgling noises into his bottle.

  
  


“So if you go, will you wait for me there?” he asks hesitantly. Something fearful flashes across her face, but it's gone before he can register.

“Always.”

* * *

Winter of 48’ was bitter. The Kama-Evans family hardly noticed. Eid al Adha, Christmas, Yusuf’s first birthday all came and went, and the photo albums continued to fill. 

Nagini stopped by to talk to Léonine more often. Tom figured it had something to do with her snake related afflictions. When she hissed, he swore he could almost make out what she was saying.

_ “Oi! The freak’s talking to snakes!” _

He’s convinced that his vestigial magic is playing tricks on him again.

* * *

  
  


Tina and Newt are delighted to show them around the newly reopened Paris Menagerie. Tom is mostly focused on making sure little Yusuf doesn’t run too far ahead.

“ Papa! Mama! Serpents! ” Léonine smiles at their son’s attempts to hiss at them.

That smile falls off when they hiss back. 

“Parseltongue!” exclaims Newt, oblivious to the scandalized looks of passers-by. After a delicate conversation between the four, they decide to carefully tell Yusuf that hissing was not allowed in public.

_ “Speak to me, Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four.” _

Tom fails to tell them he understood his son’s conversation perfectly. It seems his theories about Nagini were true. One more enigma for him to solve, though this one too dangerous to mention.

* * *

_ He’s immobile. They must have cut off his limbs. _

_ His skin is leather, his hair is paper, and everytime the quill stabs him, his blood is India ink. _

_ A hand rips him open, writes on his organs, thoughts appearing on his heart. _

_ No mouth, screaming all the same. _

_ No eyes, yet bearing witness to the author of his misfortune.  _

_ Himself. _

_ Or rather a dark reflection. _

_ Red sunken eyes stare back with satisfaction. Waxy skin etched with sadistic pleasure. Limp dark hair receding. He is more serpentine, channeling Basilisk energy. The doppelganger’s gaze surely looks lethal. _

_ He sews Tom back up with a snap, and hands him to a blond peacock. _

_ “Abraxas, my friend.” The smooth lilt makes Tom shiver with fear. “I entrust you to guard my possessions while I am abroad?” _

_ “With my life, My Lord.”  _

Tom wakes, relieved that he is whole. 

It was just a nightmare.

One that reignites when he nicks himself shaving.

The black ink swirling in the basin convinces him to grow out his facial hair.

Léonine will hate it, but better her displeasure than seeing the doppelganger.

* * *

  
  


“ Dr. Léonine Kama-Evans, your carriage awaits. ”

“ Oh, I love the sound of that ,” she purrs as they celebrate her convocation in style, their busy schedules set aside in favour of a day trip to Versailles. The spring breeze floods them with floral aromas.

They hold hands as they walk down the bassin, staring long ignored by the couple.

“ So you made a vaccine for Dragonpox? ”

“ A better one. ”

“ And the moldus suspect nothing? ”

“ I told them it was a common illness in Guinée. ”

“ They wouldn’t buy that. ” He catches her deadpan stare.

“Oh sweet Merlin, they did.” He groans in English for emphasis.

“If they want to be ignorant, I will use that to my benefit.” 

“ When will I see it on my store shelves? ”

“ When the ministry bureaucracy finally approves magical trials. ”

“ So, when Yusuf graduates. ”

SMACK. “ow!”

They laugh about the future, they laugh about the present. Later that night, they laugh in ecstasy. Feet in two worlds makes Tom a happy man.

Dreams of doppelgangers in Albania do not.

* * *

  
  


Yusuf disturbs a flock of pigeons as he runs screaming to Tom. Playmates called him slurs.

Tom picks him up and asks him not to repeat them.

“They don’t like me, papa!” he sobs. 

“Have you heard of a Basilisk, Yusuf?” the toddler blubbers, shaking his head.

“It’s the King of Snakes.”

“Is-is it a big _serpent_ , papa?” he hiccoughs.

“The biggest. And you know how it gets that way?” Another shake.

“It’s born from two animals. A chicken and toad. The chicken lays the egg, and the toad sits on it until it hatches” 

“Does it cluck and go ribbit?”

“No it’s very smart, and talks to you by hissing.” Yusuf starts laughing in Parseltongue.

“It may be born differently, but it becomes the biggest, and oldest, and smartest snake there is. It’s scales are hard as dragons, and its venom can destroy dark magic.”

“Wow! I want to be a  _ Basilic _ when I grow up!”

Tom doesn’t tell him the cost of that power. He knows that to face the world, Yusuf will need a Basilisk’s sharp fangs, quick mind, and thick skin to survive. He hopes his son never has to open its eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underlined - French 
> 
> Italics mid-sentence - Codeswitching
> 
> Full Italics - Horcrux Memory/Thought/Vision
> 
> Guinée - Guinea
> 
> Basilic - Basilisk


	5. Evil Twin

**Chapter 5**

Nagini walks in one night while Léonine is working at the hospital, scales shedding behind her, fangs bared. Tom isn’t sure what he’s done to inspire this anger.

“Where were you last night?” 

“The chemist’s till 6, Cafe Saint Martin till 7, and then here.” Her wand is at his neck.

: Don’t lie Tom,: she hisses. She knows he understands.

“I’m not.” 

“Then tell me why I saw you in Lilas firing crucios at muggles?”

Doppelganger. Here. In Paris. He swallows hard.

“Did he have red eyes?” her wand lowers a fraction.

“What do you know?”

“Very little. Enough to be afraid.” His dreams tumble out of his mouth, she corroborates his story when possible. Truth in the open is both freeing and suffocating. She offers to spy on him.

“You can barely stay human anymore.”   
  


“Tom, do you know why I come by so often?” His head shakes.

“Léonine works with me to understand the maledictus curse. She’s working on a cure.” 

“How soon?” 

“A few months, and she should have a working trial. Tom, I owe my friend my life. The least I can do is protect hers.”

They decide to wait on telling Léonine. Hopefully doppelganger will move on.

* * *

It's clear that Doppelganger is not moving on. He turns the Parisian underworld upside down.

The papers call him Monsieur Mort. As though death were ever some distinguished gentleman.

Nagini tells Tom he’s looking for something, but she’s not sure what. Some people say he’s looking for an artifact. 

Unlikely, since Grindelwald destroyed most of the arcane ones. 

One seedy brothel owner told her it was a person, not an object, that caught the attention of Mister Death. 

Nagini promises to keep looking. Tom suggests she pass on her intel to Tina. Anonymously of course.

After all, Paris’ head auror sure could use her insight.

* * *

Tom transfers his savings into pounds at Barclays.

He sends coded letters to Aunt Mary and Mama Sidonie about surprise visits.

He buys a gun, and laces the bullets with Nagini’s venom.

Yusuf begins Élementaire, and Léonine jumps through hoops to get Dragonpox cure approved.

His moonlighting espionage remains hidden from both.

* * *

“Have you spoken to Nagini lately?”

“Hmm?” he nearly drops his omelette.

“Tom, don’t ruin breakfast!”

“Chéri, I don’t ruin anything.” 

“Of course,  _ mille pardons _ .”

“I haven’t spoken to Nagini in two weeks.” Not a lie per say. All correspondence had been written and cached at drop points in Montmartre. 

“I’m worried her malady is accelerating.” He feels a pang of guilt. She’s doing it for their safety.

“And the cure? How’s it coming?”

“The less I see her, the slower it is. I need just a few more samples and I should be ready to test.”

“Much faster than Dragonpox then?”

“Don’t get me start- Yusuf, what's wrong?” The boy’s eyes are wide as saucers.

“Maman, Nagini’s bleeding!” Tom drops his cup and bolts to the door. Her human form is covered in scales, and she’s missing a hand, the stump bleeding out onto the carpet.

“He’s after  _ me. _ ” 

And in a moment, Tom’s life turns upside down.

* * *

Léonine takes a week to recover from the news. He wishes never to unleash her silent fury again. 

“So Senegal or England?” she asks.

“How about Canada?” 

“Do you want to unleash Mr. Death on poor Armand?” Remembering Nagini’s battered body, he gulps.

“Never.”

They hide her in their house until Tina comes to pick her up in the dead of night. Newt has her on the next portkey to Kaifeng, courtesy of the Tang Institute of Magizoology. It’s the last contact they have for the foreseeable future. 

Yusuf is excited to visit England for  _ la Touissant _ . Léonine tells him to pack his warm robes, mittens and hats. England in late October is colder than Paris, Tom adds. 

Waving him off with Aunt Mary at Gare du Nord, there is still so much to do.

Thank Merlin for accommodating goblins. They have the flat empty in an afternoon, Léonine’s will and research stashed in a heartbeat.

“ _C’est tout_? Anything left?” he asks. They walk wistfully along Canal St. Martin, perhaps for the last time. Orange leaves swirl in the Halloween air. 

“Just my resignation letter at the hospital. You?”

“My last shift at the chemist’s.” She hands him his old crucifix.

“I’ll meet you at home tonight.” With a kiss, they hurry to finish their getaway.

  
  


It’s a quiet afternoon. He takes it to write up all the instructions for his replacement. He hopes that the next shop he works will be his own. 

Fifteen minutes before closing the door rings open. He calls out an apology.

“ _ Un moment, monsieur _ ,  I will be with you in a moment .”

“I’m in no rush.”

His heart drops into his stomach. He knows that timbre, cadence, and tone.

He grips the cross in his pocket tightly. He prays his beard will be enough to throw his appearance. Turning around, Doppelganger appears disinterested, staring at some off-brand _pillules_. 

“How can I help you Monsieur?”

“Mort. Voldemort.” Red eyes meet black, and Tom plasters the widest smile on his face to hide his fear.

“Flight of death. Or is it Flight from death? The French language is quite beautiful with its ambiguity.” A dark cocked eyebrow is the only indication of the rage within.

_ Rage Tom can feel as if it were his own. _

“Impressive. Most tremble in fear at the sound of my name, yet you chose to fill your final moments with base humour.” Tom reaches for the gun under the counter.

_ “Crucio!”  _ The pain drops him to the floor, and he wishes for oblivion. His black blood begins pouring from his mouth, the taste of ink mingling with bile.

“So that’s what you are. No matter. A little fiendfyre and you’ll be back in the diary where you belong.” 

*BANG!* Tom sees Voldemort stumble in shock. A bullet wound dripping green blossoms on his shoulder. The demon snarls in disgust, before turning to the new combattant.

“ Ignore him. It’s me you want. ” He knows that Parseltongue accent.

_ No, Nagini, why’d you come back? _

“ Oh my dear, you are sorely mistaken. You are two birds, caught with one stone.  _ FIENDFYRE _ !” 

Tom scrambles to his feet as the heat becomes suffocating. The air crackles with ozone, and Fiery snakes tear through glass. He reaches the phone and dials the police before the wires melt. 

Voldemort and Nagini clash in a rainbow of dark magic, electric and silent. 

_ “Expulso! _

_ More powerful than I thought. _

_ Confringo! _

_ If only she’d ditch the abomination _

_ Razbit’! _

_ She’ll be a worthy vessel _

_ Avada Kedavra!” _

Tom barely registers he knows Doppelganger’s thoughts, he simply struggles to stay alive. His protego’ed crucifix once again takes the brunt of his injuries. If it weren’t for the barred exit, he’d have fled already.

One war was plenty enough.

“Foolish witch! You are mine!” With a flash, Nagini screams.

Tom blinks and they’re gone, her wand clattering to the floor. 

Her protective wards, hitherto unnoticed, crash a moment later. 

His lungs ignite and his arms sear. His back is branded by molten steel.

Clutching her wand, he welcomes death.

“Léonine, wait for me,” he whispers. 

The baton glows, and he pops out of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underlined - Other language, usually French
> 
> :Speech: - Parseltongue
> 
> Italics mid sentence - codeswitching
> 
> Italics - Horcrux thought/vision/memory
> 
> Lilas - East end "suburb" of Paris 
> 
> mille pardons - a thousand apologies
> 
> la Touissant - holidays in late-October around All Saints Day...and by extension Hallowe'en.
> 
> C'est tout? - Is that everything?
> 
> Pillules - Pills
> 
> Razbit' - Russian verb 'to shatter'
> 
> Enjoy!


	6. Ivy on Spinner's End

**Chapter 6**

“Is that everyfing, Mr. Lussier?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Tom doesn’t want to hang around longer than necessary.

“All right, that’ll be 12 shillings.” He shoved the coins on the counter before slipping out of the store. He’s greeted by fog rolling off the dreary Humber, blotting out the July sky. He couldn’t tell if the sun was still up, and stuck strictly to the sidewalk to avoid getting struck. October-esque weather puts him in a fowl mood.

_ “Aurors have called it the worst attack since the end of the war. Among the victims are Tom and Leonine Kama-Evans, Nagini Le, Aristide Molyneaux…” _

“Oi! Watch it!” A burly man shoves him.

“Bugger off!” He spits, turning and nearly running to his small flat. The wind stings against his scarred arms, but he pays no mind.

_ Hanover hospital staff tell him it's a miracle his burns are so minor. His skin apparently healed overnight.  _

_ One of the many perks of his abominable biology. _

_ "So that's what you are." _

To be honest, Tom still doesn’t know what that means.

Climbing the stairs, the damp musk fills his nostrils, and upon opening the door, he sets the groceries down on the little table. The battered desk lamp is still on. Yusuf must have forgotten to turn it off before going to sleep.

THUNK. Or not.

“Yu-Joseph?” even in private, he can’t let his guard down.

After all, they were fleeing death.

“Papa?” his son rubs his eyes as he pulls himself off the couch. “Did you get the licorice?” 

He pulls the packet out of the bag and puts it in eager hands.

“ Merci, papa!” The boy chirps in Francais-Parseltongue Patois.

“ Did you finish your  _ devoirs _ ? ” He returns in kind.

“Yes!” the response comes too quick to be honest.

“Joseph Arthur?” His son starts pouting.

“ Why does it matter, English is dumb!” 

“It matters because you’ll need it for Year 4.” He’s explained it ad infinitum, but Yusuf is stubborn. Just like himself, he supposes.

“ How about we skip all this school, and I come work with you ?” 

“No.”

“Pourquoi?”

_ Because he doesn’t want his son to break his back in a factory all day? _

“You’ll need English to be a doctor one day.” His curly haired son storms into their bedroom.

“I don’t want to be a doctor anymore!” 

Sadly he knows why.

He misses his sunshine child, he misses his friends. He misses his Méricourt, and misses his career.

But most of all he misses his Leonine.

_ “Will you wait for me?” _

_ “Always.” _

He does not find patience to his liking.

* * *

“Oswald Lussier, jus’ the man I wanted ta see!” The foreman looks too excited for Tom to feel comfortable.

_ Hex him. _

_ No. _

_ “ _ Everything alright, sir?”

“We’re transferrin’ you.” Tom feels relief and worry in equal measure.

“Where, sir?”

“We gotta new mill openin’ up. Spinner’s End. It’s som’er ‘tween Liverpool and Manchester.” 

Well, at least it helps him hide from Doppelganger.

“When do I begin?”

“Last week o’ August, Lussier. I know is quick, but if anyone can do it, is choo!” Tom tries to laugh with the Foreman, but all he thinks about is how Yusuf will take it.

Fortunately better than expected.

Though when he asks Tom to bid his friends goodbye, Tom is surprised. He hasn’t seen other children around. The heartfelt hissing alerts Tom to the friends’ nature.

It’s odd to watch. Just a boy and some snakes. Swap skin tone, and Tom knows he’d be looking at himself, circa 1935.

_ Somewhere in the back of his mind, red eyes cackle with glee. _

He stops speaking Parseltongue to his son once more.

* * *

“Mr Lussier?” He looks up from the weeds his trimming. A Red-haired woman with blue eyes stares back, prim and impatient. So much for his day off.

“Aye, who’s asking?”

“Miss Parkinson, from Cronton Primary.” He sees his sullen son peeking out behind the schoolteacher.

“And pray tell, what claim have you placed at my son’s feet?” Tom will always defend his son in public. With the world the way it was, scolding was a private affair. She seems surprised at Tom’s eloquence. 

_ It’s not the first time he’s been underestimated. _

“Mr. Lussier, are you questioning my integrity?”

“I cannot question without knowledge. Please, let’s discuss this in private.” Tom shows her inside before the neighbours start craning their necks. Yusuf slinks in behind them.

Their new lodgings consist of a two-story grey brick townhouse, an upgrade from the flat, but still lacking more than one set of chairs.

He refuses to touch Yusuf’s future Bezants and Galleons.

“Can I get you some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“One lump, or two?” If she weren’t so cross, Tom might’ve found her attractive.

The guilt of infidelity might've also been a good deterrent.

“So, what business do you have for me today?”

“Your son Joseph got into a fight with four classmates today. Two require stitches.” 

“What was the cause?” She purses her lips.

“Name Calling.” 

“Ah,” he fumes. “What a... _saccharine_ description for racism.” She bristles at his bluntness. 

“Mr. Lussier, I am not saying that I condone what those boys did, but I must follow school policy.” He glances at Yusuf, and fails to see either bruises or cuts.

“You said he fought four boys?” She nods.

“I’m honestly surprised myself, but all of them claim that Joseph shocked them.”

Dread pools. Accidental magic again. 

“I see. I will speak to him about his actions.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not finished ma’am. I may chastise my son, but I also ask you to make such talk unwelcome in your classroom.” She looks at him for a moment.

“Mr. Lussier as an educator -”

“Please? My son deserves better than that.” 

He tries to ignore the Beauxbatons owls he keeps deflecting.

She sighs, glancing over at his moping child.

“I will try,” she says quietly with a smile. “Good-bye, Joseph.” 

“Bye, Miss Parkinson,” he mumbles.

“Mr. Evans,” she calls, her previous stiff upper lip returning, “Please make sure his grammar is up to snuff.” 

* * *

It started as a rare occurrence, whenever Yusuf was in serious trouble, but as Yusuf’s fights stop, they become something more social. By November, Ivy Parkinson would be a frequent visitor in Evans home, providing him with updates of Yusuf’s progress. A word here, an action there, she tells him how her classroom is changing. Tells him how Yusuf is changing. Slowly, slowly, the chick is learning to walk.

And walking begets running. His son asks for the stories his muggle friends talk about. He tries football and rugby with the neighbours, and says everything is “brill” and “ace”.

Tom begins telling Yusuf stories of his mother. It’s a knife to his heart, but his son loves every tale, from the time she tricked her older brother to swim with a selkie, to the horror of Tom’s own explosive attempts to make proper Jollof rice for their anniversary. But whenever Yusuf asks about going to Beauxbatons, Tom changes the subject. 

He’s unsure whether to keep encouraging him to blend in, or hold onto his heritage. British, Senegalese, French, Magical. Will he lose Yusuf Kama-Evans to Joseph Lussier?

_ I am Heir of Slytherin. That’s the only heritage that matters. _

_ No that’s Doppelganger. Get thee hence. _

“Oswald?” it takes him a moment to recover.

“Sorry, Ivy, it was the tea. Needs cream.” Tom hates cream, but farce be damned.

“I was just asking how you are getting on at the mill?”

“Oh, fine. Steel is the same, day in, day out.” He'd rather be handling medicine than metal, but considering the circumstances, sacrifice was a must.

“And your back?” She had long noticed the limp caused by Fiendfyre scars.

“It is what it is.” 

“You should be careful, Oswald.” 

It might not be his name, but it’s the first time someone in town’s concerned about him.

He’ll war with guilt later.

* * *

They start sharing bits and pieces over tea.

He talks about his apprenticeship as a chemist, and his time with the 8th division.

She talks about growing up in Coventry, and losing her family to a stray bomb.

He tells her that he’s lost his memory.

She tells the stories her grandfather held dear. Magic, distorted through the lens of the mundane, Tom can tell.

Once again, loss brings him close to another human.

Yet, it’s that loss that keeps him from diving in.

They share Christmas together, Ivy claiming she’s checking on her class. To be fair, she had gone caroling to each of her students, simply stopping at the Evans’ last.

They share pudding, and Ivy teaches Yusuf  _ God rest ye merry Gentlemen  _ and  _ I saw Three Ships _ . The renditions are not fully in tune, but they are a treat. ‘A proper English Christmas,” Ivy says proudly. Tom enjoys it because Yusuf is. It’s not the summer sunshine Tom had living with Leonine, but the winter clouds were beginning to part. 

Mistaking holly for mistletoe, Ivy almost gives him a kiss before he tells her he’s a widower. She looks at him, smiles, and settles for a hug.

“Take your time.”

* * *

“Oswald look! I think you have a visitor!” 

There’s an owl on his window sill. 

“Ack! Shoo! No mice here!” He has to get it before Yusuf notices it. He can see the murder in its eyes as it takes off.  _ Tant pis _ , no pity from him.

“Sorry about that. Pests.” Ivy laughs. 

“No mind. My mother used to tell me stories where Merlin used owls like messenger pigeons. Oh! I think this one might’ve heard them!” He refrains from eye bulging at the thick parchment envelope in her hands. 

“Oswald, your French is better than mine, but the letter is from...Beautiful Sticks?”

“What an odd name,” he tries.

“Is it something to do with the military?” 

“Private school actually,” he responds, not a beat missed. She looks like a cat in the creamery.

“Quite the private school to use messenger owls.” 

Damn it.

“These are for Joseph, aren’t they?” He’s not sure if she knows about magic, but there may be more secrets wrapped in those auburn locks. He’ll have to tread carefully.

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s Easter hols, I have time.”

So he tells her the magic redacted version, he still doesn't trust her with that pearl just yet. Still, he explains how he met Leonine during the war, what they had together, how someone killed her. How he was protecting Yusuf from her killer so that he could carry that legacy. 

“So he has all that waiting for him.”

“When it’s safe again.”

“And when will that be?”

_ When he kills Doppelganger with his bare hands. _

_ Ugh! No, let the aurors do it. _

“I don’t know yet.”

“Oswald, Your son deserves better.” 

He laughed at his own hypocrisy. Yusuf’s entry couldn’t be more perfect. 

“Hi Miss Ivy! I’m finished my homework, I swear.”

“Joseph it’s fine, I’m on holiday too.”

“Oh. Do you want your storybook back? I finished it yesterday.”

“Don’t worry, I can pick it up next time I stop by,” she says as they share a laugh.

“Yu-Joseph, did you need anything?” asked Tom, nearly slipping. His son nods.

“Yes Papa, can I go play football at the park?”

“Be back by dinner.”

“Brill! Merci, papa!” And out he runs.

Ivy turns back to look at him. He tries to hide the traitorous blush. 

“Perhaps it's not my place to say, but I think your son would love to go to Beauxbatons.”

“I know. But I’d rather not lose him too.” 

The charred crucifix tingles round his neck.

“I think it's time to stop running, Oswald Lussier.”  


_ She's right _

“Tom.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It's actually Tom Evans.” She leans in close, and gives him a peck on the cheek.

“Well met, Tom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the poor English accent from the foreman. If anyone knows how to better represent the accent from Kingston upon Hull, let me know and I'll correct it.
> 
> Bezant - According to the HP wiki, the magic currency of France 
> 
> Tant pis - too bad
> 
> So here we are, Tom's story beginning to intersect back with Harry Potter's! 
> 
> Comments would be helpful to gage what needs more screentime, so feel free to add!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Cepheus


	7. Balancing Acts

**Chapter 7**

“Attention Parents and Guardians: Train 12 from Tarbes is arriving on Platform 3.” Léonine once told him Gare Austerlitz-Flamel was to be avoided with a passion.

He couldn’t agree more.

Hidden from muggles, it is a cacophony of mages. All inhibitions are down, and it’s an exhibition of all the lands to points south and east.

Tom had heard about a Ministerial push for more apparition licenses. He hopes the shift renders this chaos obsolete or at the very least, tolerable.

_ “Platform 9 ¾? Where are your parents?” _

Amidst the flocks of reunited families, he was looking for one boy in particular. First-year, fresh from finishing with fly colours.

“Bye Raphaël! Bye Celestin!” he hears the boy call.

He then spots him, Blue robes, and bronze skin, laughing with classmates .

_ Ravenclaw. All brains and no purpose. _

_ Hogwarts is irrelevant here, be gone! _

“Papa!” He braces as Yusuf crashes into his stomach. He’s gotten taller and heavier, Tom muses.

“Hi, Yusuf!” he chokes as he rights them both.

“ Papa shhh! It’s Joseph here, remember? ” Yusuf rolls his eyes playfully.

Before the fire, they’d agreed that should Yusuf require protection, he’d legally go by Joseph Evans. Anonymity protected Tom in war, he hopes it would protect his son now.

“Sorry  _ mon fils _ , how was Spring Term?” They walk to Jardin des Plantes as Yusuf tells Tom about every small wand flick, every new acquaintance, every strange creature. A cream and jade minaret looms over them as they slip into Newt’s office at the Menagerie. Tom sees Yusuf slowing down as they climb the stairs.

“Need help with the trunk?”

“No, I can do it !” It slides back two steps. He reaches for the other handle.

“I can do it, Papa!”

“ That’s why I’m only picking up one side .” Personally he wishes he could just levitate it and avoid the back pain, but Nagini’s wand yields nothing in his hands.

_ How did it work that one time? _

_ Dark Magic. _

_ Shoo. _

“Can’t I just bring it back to Spinner’s End?”

“Ivy can’t know about magic, Yu-Joseph.”

“You still 'aven’t told 'er!? Papa she’s seen owls and everything.”

“Your stuff stays with Newt and Tina. End of discussion.” Newt opens the door, confused.

“You're early.”

“No Newt is 16h00.”

“Is it really? Well I skipped lunch again. Hi Yusuf!” Tom’s son frowns.

“It’s Joseph, Uncle Newt.”

“Right. Would you like to see the Erumpets with Niccola and little Theseus?” The frown becomes a pout-smile.

Tom knows their previous conversation isn’t over yet.

* * *

“Relax dear, the house and shop are hale and whole.” He’s surprised she can already read his face that well.

_ Show no weakness to muggles.  _

_ Emotion isn’t weakness, gremlin. _

“ ‘lo, Aunt Ivy.”

“Hi Joseph!” She says as they hug, her eagerness so infectious Tom surprises himself by joining.

“How was Beauxbatons?” Yusuf gives a Slytherin smile.

“There were owls everywhere! I might just tame one to make sending letters easier.” Ivy laughs and Tom glares. 

“A pet owl?”

“Why not?” he counters, smirking at Tom.

“Because they’re messy,” he answers for the boy. Ivy decides to change the subject.

“Then what’s your favourite subject?”

“Ma...zoology!”

“They offer zoology? At this age?”

“It’s what the French call Biology,” Tom cuts in again. “Yusuf, did you unpack yet?”

“No.”

“Tom, he just got here.”

“It’s ok Aunt Ivy, I’ll tell you after.” This child must have a death wish. Footfalls echo, leaving the pair alone.

“Don’t be so hard on him, he’s just excited.” 

“I’ll remind you that when he tracks mud through the kitchen.” Her nostrils flare but before the reply, a hiss of pain. He helps her sit down quickly.

“I’m fine, Petunia’s just kicking.” 

“Sounds like she doesn’t like mud either.”

“How do you know it isn’t a boy?” Yusuf startles them, having silently returned. Tom recovers first.

“Yes, how do we know it isn’t Thyme?” Ivy mock glares.

“ _ Basil  _ can wait, this one’s Petunia.”

* * *

_ He’s stuck in a mirror this time. Far better than paper, though he’d still prefer the cottage full of snakes. Their conversations are fascinating. _

_ Only sounds reach through the looking glass. _

_ “Good evening, Tom.” He stills at the appellation. Was the stranger talking to him? _

_ “I heard you’d become headmaster.” Nope, that was Doppelganger.  _

_ Should it disturb him they shared a name? _

_ Perhaps no more than his lucid nightmares. _

_ “one of the irritating things about old teachers...they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings.” Doppelganger had a history with this man. If he could just get a name, then perhaps they could find a way to stop him together. _

_ A flash of warmth enveloped him. Was he wearing the crucifix in his dream? Did Yusuf give it back for the summer? _

_ “so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister...” An English wizard. No offense to Newt, but he did not like dealing with their ministry. France may snub squibs like himself, Britain destroys them. _

_ The warmth begins to squeeze tighter. _

_ “Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them.” _

_ "Greatness spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore." _

_ No. Anyone but Dumbdoor. His pride refused it. _

_ “~tom~” The soft whisper caught him off guard. Looking down he saw the warmth emanated from chocolate arms. Her arms. _

_ He spins around and sees her eyes, worried...in pain. _

_ “I’m waiting, Tom.” he watches the purple scar consume her. _

“Gehh!” He bolts up in a cold sweat. A cool summer breeze floats through the window.

“Tom?” The clock reads three-thirty. 

“Go back to bed, love. I have to go do something for the shop,” Ivy mumbles and tries to roll over.

He can’t tell if this nightmare is like the others. Léonine’s never visited him before. He thinks about her pain filled eyes. Would she be happy he found...well maybe not love, but comfort?

He was sure she’d be happy for Yusuf. He had a “mother” encouraging him to follow his dreams.

A shame it wasn’t her.

Perhaps he needed to let the dead rest, and handle that when he got there.

_ If you ever get there. _

* * *

__

“ Do I have to go now? ”

“ Term starts Monday, we need to leave for Paris tomorrow. Besides, don’t you have friends like Raphaël, Celestin, and the one girl… ”

“Roxanne.”

“ Yes, her !”

“ _ Si, mais _ ...they’ll understand. This is more important. ”

“ Yusuf, we have to go. ”

“ But I won’t get to see Petunia! ”

“You’ll see her at Christmas.”

“ _ C’est pas le même _ !" His son throws his hands up and nearly knocks over an amber vase. Tom sees an opening.

“Tell you what. If  _ Thyme  _ comes before Hallowe’en, you can spend  la Touissant in Britain. 

“Basil!” Ivy yelling in the other room, sonar ears detecting the jab.

“Still a plant!” he counters loudly. “I’ll even get Tina to set up the portkey.” Now it’s Yusuf’s turn to mull it over.

“Samhain at 'ome? Hmmm. Throw in a visit to Nan?"

_ Slytherin indeed. _

"I'll talk to Aunt Mary and let you know." Yusuf nods with satisfaction.

"You better bring out your spookiest magical tales.”

“Ivy has better ones.” The boy looks skeptical.

“Babbity Rabbity?”

“Not that one.” Yusuf laughs before getting quiet.

“ Papa, do you think she might be,,,well...like you? ”

“You mean un cracmol? A squib?” Yusuf nods. Tom mulls it over.

“ Maybe. ”

“ When you find out, we’re telling her about Beauxbatons. ” Cue internal and external groaning.

“You will not let that go?” The boy smiles earnestly.

“Never!”

* * *

Petunia is born on September 25, with few complications. He does take umbrage to the fact muggle hospitals don’t let fathers in during the process. 

Ivy swears she’ll cut off his member to avoid a repeat experience. He hopes it's just the birthing pains and not a legitimate threat.

When he finally gets to hold their baby, he hisses a lullaby in Parseltongue, the first he’s spoken in years.

His heart melts when she almost hisses back.

* * *

“She’s too small,” declares his ten-year-old.

“You were smaller,” Tom counters while Ivy swaddles their new familial addition. Candles are their only light this evening.

“All right Joe, what story do you want me to tell?” she asks. Yusuf looks like he’s forgotten the title.

“The one with the ring..and the cape...and something.”

“The Tale of Three Brothers?”

SNAP! “That’s the one!”

“Joseph, my father told that one once in a blue moon. I’m not sure I remember it.”

“Samhain is once in a blue moon.” She gives him a funny look.

“I guess I’ll try.”

“Here, I’ll take Petunia,” Tom offers, his daughter almost hissing in delight to be in his arms. Tom’s glad Yusuf’s too excited to pay attention.

“Three brothers, travelling along a lonely road at midnight, reached a treacherous river where anyone who attempted to swim or wade would drown…” Tom admires the master storyteller spinning her craft. There are moments the story feels familiar, like he’d heard parts before. 

Death reminds Tom of Doppelganger.

‘Banish those thoughts, you owe your family the attention.’

“Greeting Death as an old friend, they departed this life as equals.” Tom wistfully wonders if he could ever feel that way.

Tale complete, Yusuf claps in delight as Ivy takes a half-bow.

“My father always said there was a symbol for every hallow too,” she mentions.

“Here, draw it on my schoolbook!” Tom forgot to remind Yusuf, and holds his breath that Ivy doesn’t see the notes. She’s more focused on her task. Her pen traces the triangle and circle, but drawing the final stroke, the boy rips the tool out of her hands.

“Yusuf!” she shouts, setting off Petunia’s cries. 

“That’s a bad symbol, Aunt Ivy! You can’t draw that!” She’s gaping at her step-son.

“I most certainly can! Please apologize for snatching”

“Not when I’m saving you from the aurors!” Tom’s patience ran out thirty seconds ago.

“Both of you! You’re ssscaring Petunia,” he hisses, Parseltongue lisp audible. Yusuf stiffens immediately. Ivy looks surprised.

“Tom-”

“That symbol is associated with Nazis in France, Ivy” he lies, “and you young man, do not overreact about  _ moldus emprisonees par des aurors _ !” 

It takes them over an hour to salvage the night, but Tom knows his worlds are colliding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Some sections are taken from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and the Deathly Hallows. I am not JK Rowling so I do not own any of those portions
> 
> Gare Austerlitz - Train station near the Paris Zoo 
> 
> 16h00- 4pm
> 
> Si, mais - yes, but...(this is only used when responding to negative questions 'i.e. don't you?')
> 
> C'est pas le même! - It's not the same!
> 
> Un cracmol - A squib
> 
> moldus emprisonees par des aurors - Muggles imprisoned by aurors


	8. Collision

**Chapter 8**

He tries to come clean to Ivy for two months. Magically, the answer evades him.

_ “You know Yusuf’s pet owl?” _

_ “How did you learn Babbity Rabbity?” _

_ “Have you ever seen the Rowanwood baton in my desk? _

Nothing comes natural. He wonders if it would work better at the Chemist’s shop.

_ “A bezoar can counteract most poisons. Ever wonder why?” _

_ “So the shop in Paris had all sorts of customers. Even witches!’ _

Somehow, he doubts that last one will go over well.

_ Imperio her, and you get rid of the problem. _

That suggestion doesn’t deign a response. 

Even his attempts to compare her gardening to herbology, but once again, it falls flat in his mind.

The holidays arrive, his son returns, and still nothing comes. He’s so used to keeping hidden that opening up makes him panic. There’s no time frame, so he’ll put it off again. When he comes up with the perfect presentation, then he’ll share.

It may take some time, but that’s fine for Tom. 

* * *

Alas, time runs out and impact occurs in early January ‘58 when a young woman in a tartan dress knocks at the door.

“Can I help you Miss?”

“Minerva McGonagall.” He sees her barely concealed wand poking out her sleeve.

_ Tom, Mr. Dumbledore has come to see you. _

He blinks and gulps.

“Right this way.” He leads her to the living room, where Ivy is entertaining Petunia.

“Ivy this is Prof-Miss Minerva McGonagall.” Tom ignores the odd look the Scottish witch throws him. 

“Oh hello Professor McGonagall! My name is Ivy Evans.” Ivy caught the slip up, to his dismay.

“A pleasure Mrs. Evans. Is your son home?” his wife chuckles.

“Step-son professor. My husband is also a widower.” He flushes and McGonagall tenses.

“My apologies Mr. Evans.”

“ _ Pas de soucis _ , Professor. You did not know.” Though he wished it remained so.

“As for Joseph, he’s out playing football with the neighbours. He should be back in twenty minutes.” McGonagall’s face scrunches.

“Is this not the residence of Yusuf Arthur Kama-Evans?” 

Tom’s hackles rise at the mention of his son’s full name. Where he had doubts before, he’s certain it's British Wizards.

“That’s his full name Tom? No wonder you went by pseudonyms.” McGonagall eyes him suspiciously.

“Yes professor, that’s my son,” he bites. She remains unfazed by his passive aggression.

“Has ever done anything...unusual?” McGonagall asks. Ivy taps her chin.

“Well other than an incident around Hallowe’en-”

COUGH COUGH COUGH. 

Tom must resort to drastic measures to control the flow of information. McGonagall looks imperious.

“Mr. Evans, if you have a concern with my presence in your home, please say so. I have an offer of admittance for your son and would rather not waste my time.”

“Admittance?” Ivy glances over confused, “Tom, did you enroll him in another school?” And now he’s lost it.

_ When in doubt Obliviate. _

_ I don’t have enough magic, you hellspawn. _

“I assure you Mrs. Evans, every student in the British Isles with a certain...shall we say, aptitude, is automatically enrolled for attendance.”

“While I have no doubt that Yusuf is a gifted boy, we will have to decline because he’s attending another boarding school abroad,” Tom adds smoothly. The professor doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“I didn't specifically mention we were a boarding school,” replies the suspicious Scot. Tom tries to maintain his charming voice.

“Well professor, I simply assumed, seeing as you take in children from all over the Isles, how could Ho- your hallowed institution be a Day school?” 

“Well reasoned Mr. Evans. However, to answer your earlier concern, plenty of our muggle-born students have previously been enrolled at prestigious institutions like Eton, and have flourished with us.”

“What about Beauxbatons?” chirps Ivy.

Hell freezes over. 

Tom is now stuck in its ninth circle, chest deep in ice.

McGonagall looks like a threatened cat, but rallies valiantly.

“Pardon Mrs. Evans, I must have misheard the name. What school is Mr. Kama-Evans attending?”

“Beauxbatons, ma’am. Tom assures me it’s one of the premier boarding schools in Europe.” Tom wishes the floor would swallow him this instant as the witch levels him a Basilisk glare.

“Mr Evans, are you going to clarify the nature of your son’s education to your wife, or shall I?”

* * *

Ivy surprises them all.

"So that's the truth behind grandpa's stories." She recounts a watered down  _ Fountain of Fair fortune _ to prove her point _ ,  _ much to McGonagall's surprise and delight. The professor explains context and corrects the misconceptions.

The glares Ivy sends Tom makes clear that the volcano is rumbling.

Yusuf gasps when he enters to the sight of teacups floating to the kitchen.

"Papa, I swear I didn't do any magic, please don't tell Headmaster Herbois."

"Not to worry Mr. Kama-Evans, your secret is safe with me," Yusuf stares wide-eyed at their visitor’s wand.

“Yusuf, what do we say to visitors?” chides Ivy.

“Oh, um, Hi! My name is Yusuf Evans. Nice to meet you,” he stiffly holds out his hand, matching his wooden delivery. McGonagall shakes it all the same.

“And you Mr. Evans. My name is Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Yusuf’s eyes spark with recognition.

“That’s the school Uncle Newt went to, right Papa?” Tom sees the Scot bite her tongue, holding back her surprise for the umpteenth time that day.

“Yes, Yusuf. But it looks like the Professor wants to speak about you,  _ mon fils _ .” His son eagerly turns back to the tartan clad woman, firing questions.

“Me? Professor, what’s so special about me?”

_ You mean apart from the fact you know magic better than her second years? _

_ You ...are not welcome in this conversation, I have enough to deal with. _

“Well Mr. Evans, seeing as you know about the existence of magic already, and now that  _ both _ of your parents have been properly brought up to speed. On behalf of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, I’d like to extend you an offer of enrollment at Hogwarts.” 

All Tom heard was Albus bloody Dumbdoor. Call him illogical, or tainted by Doppelganger, but the thought of his son around that man enraged Tom.

He was lucky that Yusuf could use a Slytherin tongue, should the occasion need one.

“Professor, it’s um, truly it’s an honor to be considered for this, it really is, but I can’t accept this offer right now. You see, education was important to  _ ma mere _ , and I would do her a disservice to...how you say?... switch my studies mid-stream,” By the look on McGonagall’s face, she was impressed and unsure how to proceed. Then she gave him an understanding smile.

“Well Mr. Kama-Evans, you’re a smart lad. I will however leave you the letter anyway. Should your circumstances ever permit, or you simply wish for a change of scenery, Hogwarts is always open to you.” She thanked Ivy for the chat and rose to leave, but not before leveling Tom one more scathing stare.

“Mr. Evans, while I do not agree with how you handle information, I do applaud your decision to leave your son’s magical items in France before his 11th birthday. Otherwise, I’d have been under obligation to involve the ministry, so thank you for saving me that particular mess today.” She may have been a decade younger than he, but she put him in his place like a misbehaving schoolboy.

He knew Ivy would do the same later tonight.

With a flourish, the family watched the professor disapparate on the back doorstep before Ivy turned to gush with her step-son.

“Joseph, where’d you learn to talk like that?” she asked excitedly. He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair.

“Oh, that’s from rhetoric class,” he said bashfully. Tom could tell he was unused to sharing the truth.

_ And who’s fault is that? _

“You handled that incredibly well, I’m proud of you!” His copper skin hid the blush fairly well.

“Thanks Aunt Ivy. It’s harder to remember all the fancy words in English, so I was worried.”

“Well you’ll have to tell me all about school before you go. Tell me, how do they feed all the messenger owls?”

* * *

“You didn’t tell me.” There is no evading bitter truths.

“I know.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Because that isn’t enough.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for months.”

“You should’ve told me when you sent our son to France.” Tom feels it wrong for her to claim Yusuf that way, adding an edge to his defense.

“There are laws about secrecy!”

“Damn the laws!” He forgot that her temper was fiery, the opposite of Léonine’s.

“By the time he was leaving, we were married! You knew I had some insight, more than the average person. And you said nothing. You made a fool of me today! You even had Newt and Tina covering for you when they visited. Does Aunt Mary know?”

“No, she doesn’t.”   
  


“At least I’m not the only family you deceive.” His eyes flare red.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch someone murder everyone you love, and destroy everything you ever cared for? Without Yusuf, I’d have gone on a vengeance quest to make the bugger pay, but his safety was more important!”

“You say it’s about Yusuf, but did you ever stop to think how he felt?”

“He wanted to tell you,”

“Then he’s smarter than you!” One breath, two, Tom is trying to refrain himself further. Ivy shudders with rage and pain.

“Do you think this is easy for me, either?” she asks rhetorically. “I worry if I am doing enough to make sure that boy knows I love him, even when he is thousands of miles away. And then you go and make that challenge harder by hiding part of his life, his learning, his, his... core identity from me!” He has no defense other than defiant crimson eyes.

“Do you not trust me to love and protect our children?” she bites, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

If he’s being honest with himself, he trusts her, just not enough. That’s his fault, he grudgingly admits. It takes all his strength not to channel Doppelganger’s darkness into his being.

“I’m sorry,” he utters.

Ivy kicks him out of their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pas de soucis - No problem, no worries
> 
> mon fils - my son (I've used this earlier and forgotten to mention it)
> 
> Comments and critiques always welcome!


	9. Planting Trees

**Chapter 9**

She insists on taking Yusuf to Paris herself. Her tone brooches no argument. Interestingly, that means he’s left with Petunia in Spinner’s End, to his surprise and panic.

“She’ll be fine. I trust you.” She’s definitely spiteing him. 

“Besides you’ll have Eileen to help you at the shop.”

He wants to spite her back, but worries that Yusuf would be late returning to school. On the day of departure, after hugging Yusuf, he simply hands her the Scamander’s phone number. She takes it, gives him a look of mixed regret and indifference. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she states, and walks away.

Four days he’s left with his hissing baby daughter while also trying to run an Apothecary. It takes every ounce of his energy to keep her alive and happy, especially when she keeps opening the medicine cabinet. Eileen takes pity and keeps the prescriptions filled. She’s quite the natural chemist.

It’s clear that he was wrong to doubt Ivy, the embarrassment of his flailing with Petunia finally humbling him to admit defeat.

If he weren’t so foolish, he’d leave it there, but ever the  _ muggle loving fool, _ he tries to clean the house to Ivy’s standards, a task he barely accomplishes when Ivy walks through the door. She looks just as haggard as he feels.

“Did he make it?” he asks tiredly.

“Barely. Scamander’s son Theseus took his wand. Is the Apothecary standing?”

“Petunia nearly ruined every mixture, but they're both hale and whole.”

Without words, they call a truce and spend the night in apologies.

* * *

“Are you a wizard?” It’s the first non-accusatory question he’s had in weeks.

“No, not really.”

“What do you mean not really?”

“I have little spurts of magic, nothing more.”

“That’s possible?”

“Sounds like the case for your grandfather.”

The fountain of curiosity runs over.

* * *

“Wizarding currency makes no sense,”

“That’s just the British ones, French are decimalized.” 

“That’s hardly better.”

“Says the one who pays schillings, pence, and pounds.” Humour slowly returns to their interactions. 

  
  


* * *

“Vampires are real?” she asks, surprised.

“Yes, why?” He puts down the laundry he was folding.

“Yusuf wrote about meeting one in History class,” she replies.

“I suppose he told you not worry,” 

“Yes, but now I dream of Dracula, and frankly, I’d rather not.” Tom sees Ivy trying to make light of it, but her left hand trembles. He takes it in his own tenderly. 

She welcomes him into a strong embrace, he knows she needs it. An embrace leads to a kiss, 

a kiss begets passion, 

passion begets pleasure, 

pleasure begets healing.

* * *

“Have you seen a dragon?” The questions hadn’t stopped for weeks.

“No, those are in Scotland or Romania.”

“None in the magical zoo in Paris?”

“They don’t have enough space. Besides, Newt would never let them cage one like that.” Ivy looks at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“When Yusuf gets back, we should go to see one.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“Trains to Scotland are cheaper than trains to France.”

“Money isn’t the issue.”

“Oh. It’s the secrecy isn’t it?”

“Aye.” That was the hardest part about knowing the magic, and not fully tasting it. Worse still that you were looked down on for not winning the magical lottery. 

One look at the States though, and he’s glad to live in Rappapport’s Law-free Britain. He’s doubly glad that Jacob and Queenie moved to Canada. Likewise, he’s pretty sure that’s why Doppelganger tried to kill him. Erase the shame of his squib twin, no one would look twice.

Odd that their mother would’ve named them both Tom, though.

_ “...Name~Tom~papa…” _

“So what do you think?” Oops, he spaced out.

“Um-”

“I’m sure that Newt would approve.” Oh right. Dragons.

“Newt would be the first one petting the dragons. Did you ever hear about how he and Tina met?”

* * *

All three Evans go to Gare Austerlitz-Flamel that spring. Ivy declares it a mini-holiday, being Petunia’s first trip to France. It takes her days of cranky grumbling to adapt to the change.

When Yusuf peels off from his friends, he drags another boy over to meet them. From what Tom could tell, it was probably his friend Celestin.

“Papa, Aunt Ivy, look! This is my cousin Souleymane!” 

Or not. His son pauses trying to remember something.

“ Souley, Kii mooy sama...bay,” Wollof. Tom hasn’t heard it since he was last in Senegal...with Léonine.

“Salut Mr. Kama-Evans.” Tom recognized N’deye’s boy immediately. Three shades darker than Yusuf and displaying his gap tooth, the familial resemblance was still uncanny. 

Ivy tries to talk to the boys in Frenglish and Petunia grabs Yusuf’s face, but Tom scans the train hall, on high alert. N’Deye still thinks he’s dead.

Or she did up until two seconds ago. Her green and gold headpiece gives her added height, her matching print dress adds presence as she parts the crowd. Where a decade ago, most would put her down for her dark complexion, she now bears it like a badge of honour. She is no longer Léonine’s sassy little cousin, she is a powerful woman in her own right. 

Her expression upon seeing Yusuf is sunshine; her expression at the sight of Tom is stormy.

“Maman, it’s Yu-Joseph!” She turns to his son, smiling.

“Salut, petit. You’ve gotten tall!” she gushes. The use of French is calculated. Ivy struggles to keep up, but Tom knows that’s the message she’s sending him.

Interloper. Traitor. How dare you.

_ You could destroy her reputation, I’ve done it before. _

_ I am not sinking to your level, murderer. _

“ How long are you in Paris?” she asks Yusuf.

“ Quelques jours,” replies Ivy haltingly. N’deye’s smile becomes brittle.

“Well, ‘ow about we meet you all in Place Cachée?”

“ _ Jërëjëf, Tante N’deye _ !” 

Tom lets out a breath when they survive the encounter. Though his wife’s quasi-sister’s attitude does not bode well.

* * *

“You didn’t tell her either,” says Ivy, reclining on the hotel chesterfield, Petunia in lap. 

“I was trying to hide from the murderer. A ghost in Dakar is hardly hiding.” Tom is doing his best not to be defensive.

“She probably would have loved to know you and Yusuf were safe.” 

“But-” she fixes a 'McGonagall' look at him. He wants to argue, but he knows she’s right. 

“I once heard that the best time to plant a tree was twenty years past. The second best is today,” she offers.  


“You’re telling me to find a time-turner?” Ivy chuckles.

“No, I mean take advantage of the time we’ll spend together this week,” and with that, Tom begins to let in a sliver of hope.

* * *

It doesn’t last past sundown.

_ “We waited months for your visit.”  _ The owl showed up after bedtime.

_ “Now you’ve gone and replaced her.”  _ Angry ink flecks blot the parchment. __

_ “Cut Yusuf off from his family,”  _ he nearly breaks a glass.

“ _ No better than the soldiers in Caen.”  _ He throws it all out the window, before slipping out for some air. The last one is a knife through his heart.

The city at night feels no different than yesteryear. Same late night taxis, same crowded bars. It’s brighter than Manchester or even London, his shadow rising and falling with every streetlamp he passes.

Despite his frequent commutes to the City of lights, he hasn’t set foot in Méricourt. Hasn’t set foot in on their street.

Merlin, he hated death.

Yet sure enough, his shuffling feet brought him to the one that hurt the most.

He’d heard Doppelganger firebombed both the shop and the flat, but to see the jagged, carbonized, Fiendfyre scars on the building is a different story altogether. 

Apart from the charring, the building is unchanged. Lights on, radios blaring, people living their lives. The juxtaposition is too much for him.

So he wept. For the first time in five years, he wept for his first wife. Love of his life, avant-garde doctor, resilient human and friend. N’deye was right, he’d failed her. He punches the wall till his hand bleeds black, but he doesn't care. His eyes are probably redder than Doppelganger’s and he just doesn’t care. He yanks the old cross off his neck and nearly throws it against the concrete.

: Papa, Stop!:  He feels his son pull him away from the wall, hissing apologies in Parseltongue, and shedding the fattest tears. It makes Tom freeze. 

“Yusuf, what are you doing here?” 

“I saw you leave, and I was worried,” he sniffles. He grabs Tom’s hand reaches for his wand, spell on his lips.

“Mon fils, the trace!” he reminds quickly.

“Oh, right. But you need bandages!”

“I’ll be fine,” Tom lies. Yusuf just hugs him again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he mumbles. 

And Tom remembers Place de la République all those years ago.

He may have lost his wife, but Yusuf lost his mum; they are both grieving. So he stands up and envelops the child. They stand there hugging for the longest time before walking to a nearby canal. 

“Do you remember playing here?”

“A little. Maman watched me chase pigeons.” 

“And they squirmed when you caught them.” Yusuf’s curls fall into his face as he laughs.

“ Maman used tarantallegra to make them dance for a bit, before setting them free. ” Their stories continue long after the metro closes. Yusuf helps him mend the crucifix chain with the quietest  _ Reparo _ imaginable. They relax once no trace-breaker owls bomb them. When they’ve laughed and cried, and laughed some more, they’re lucky to hail a cab back to bed. 

And the ink on the building wall gains the faintest reddish hue.

* * *

Tom screws his courage and visits the goblins. Normal transactions for Yusuf’s schooling aside, it’s the first serious visit since 53. He has to fetch an item from their old vault. 

He misses out on the day trip to Château Vincennes, but he gains something more important.

Léonine’s last letter to N’deye. The one where she explained everything, and promised to give her sister closure. Closure that Tom knew she deserved.

When they meet in Place Cachée, it's all smiles and  _ bizoux _ despite the silent feud. Ivy loves every minute and decides they’re going to Diagon Alley this summer. He sees N’deye’s eyes narrow at that statement. Her husband Amadou doesn’t notice as he takes Ivy and the kids to the Broomstore. 

Feeling that he’s waited long enough he taps his sister-in-law’s shoulder and gives her a serious look. They peel off into a side alley.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

“To give you this.” he hands her the letter. Her lip curls when she reads the name.

“Five years late, I see.”

“The best time to give it to you was five years ago. The second best is today.” He hopes his wife’s wisdom will work for his sister-in-law. She hesitates for a moment before taking it.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to lose another sibling?” Tom realises Yusuf’s namesake might also be a sore spot left unmended.

“I can’t speak to your pain, but mine still goes on. Every single day.” He can’t tell if her nostrils flare from rage, or the putrid sewer air.

“Yet here you are. Happy as a clam with your ivory wife and porcelain daughter.” He needs to cut off her fangs before he’s consumed by poison.

“What would you do if Amadou died? What would happen to Souleymane, Aissatou, and Moussa?” She stills and looks at him with new eyes.

“I would get help from Mama Sidonie to make sure they finished school.” Tom was glad to hear she was still alive.

“Beauxbatons?”

“Beauxbatons, Ouagadou, even La Sorbonne or Polytechnique if it meant they soared.” He nods.

“Ivy was the one who told me to send Yusuf to Beauxbatons. Before she even knew magic existed. Do you know what she told me?”

“Hmm?”

“My son deserved better.” 

The two hardly share a word the rest of the afternoon but the vitriol is gone. 

Before they leave Paris, she’ll have offered them a visit to Senegal. In turn he’ll have offered them a visit to Manchester (Spinner’s End, but close enough), and if Ivy’s conversation with Newt and Tina was an indicator, a stop at the dragon reserves.

Slowly, slowly, the chicks were learning to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underline - Non-English (French or Wollof)
> 
> :Parseltongue:
> 
> Souley, Kii mooy sama...bay - Souley, this is my...dad
> 
> Quelques jours - a few days
> 
> Place Cachée - literally 'Hidden Square', France's Diagon Alley
> 
> Jërëjëf, Tante N’deye! - Thank you, Aunt N'deye
> 
> Château Vincennes - Old French Castle in Eastern Paris
> 
> bizoux - kisses, used in greetings 
> 
> Ouagadou - Magical School in West Africa (supposedly located in the mountains of the moon)
> 
> La Sorbonne & Polytechnique - Really prestigious French Universities; obviously muggle institutions, so N'deye uses them for emphasis


	10. Juggling

**Chapter 10**

Since Eileen had gotten pregnant, Tom hadn’t been able to fill her spot at the Apothecary. Thus, he was flooded with orders and prescriptions. He doesn’t mind the upswing in time spent with cloying chemical odours; it keeps him from thinking about the farce Doppelganger pulled over some Russian Aurors in Volhynia. Heirs club indeed.

_ But you wouldn’t know better, eh Papery? _ _   
_ _ You of all...sentients, don’t get to use that nickname. _

The bell rings, and in walks his growing son. He now came up to Tom’s chin, and was well on track to surpass him. He put down the football he carried and picked up the rolled up mat behind the counter. 

“Did you sprain something during the match?”

“No papa, it's time for prayer.” Tom blinks.

“Right. Back room’s free.” His son smiles on the way in.

Yusuf had picked up the practice on one of their visits to Senegal, and who was Tom to judge? Léonine would’ve been fine had her children been christian, muslim, athée, or all three, so he was willing to follow her lead. Even in death. 

It did occasionally put a wrench in Ivy/Yusuf interactions. It struck him odd, she a default Anglican, drank in magic like a sponge but balked at others not celebrating Easter. She loved her step-son regardless, just not seeing eye to eye was difficult for her. 

He supposed he had to find a new protective enchantment for his son, now that passing on the crucifix was out.

Said necklace thrummed in sync with Tom's heartbeat.

“Alright, done!” 

“Good! Is your charms homework also done?”

“Of course! I actually like charms.” Yusuf picked up the ball to do leg-ups.

“Not in the store!”  He should be expecting grey hairs any day now.

“Désolée!” he cries as he catches the ball.

“So what homework should I be nagging you about?”

“ None of them because you love me?”

“Nice try. I love you anyway.”

“Fine, potions, I guess.”

“Potions!? Oh my son, how I have failed you!” The boy nearly threw the ball at him, but a ringing telephone interrupted his nefarious act, and subsequent scolding.

“I’ll get it! Hello Evans Apoth-oh. Hi Aunt Ivy.” Tom went to finish the newest batch.

“Again? Isn’t there some in the fridge?”

“Sorry. It tasted good!”

“I’ll tell him to get double then.”

“Ok, love you too. Bye!”

“Aunt Ivy wants more of that halal chicken curry.”

“Again? Is  _ Thyme  _ that hungry?”

“ You know she won’t let you name the new baby Thyme. ”

“Would you rather I call it Bubotuber?” Yusuf laughs. 

“Only if you bring double portions.”

Hunting for halal in Manchester was a headache, but it was one thing the two agreed was a must have for dinner. 

He almost wished he shared their sentiment.

* * *

Lily was born in the dead of winter, when the rains iced the roads solid, and Tom dreaded not having a car for the first time in his ambiguously short life. Their trip to the hospital had been enough a white knuckle experience to make him remedy it soon.

Unlike Petunia, a recessive blond, Lily's tufts shone like copper wire. He knew babies’ eyes were usually dark or cloudy, but Lily’s shone the brightest green.

_ Slytherin Green. _

"I think I'm done after Lily," says an exhausted Ivy. 

"What, no thyme in our kitchen?" He doesn't expect Aunt Mary's wizened hand smacking him with a clipboard. 

"Thomas, if you can't behave, get out of the delivery room, the nurses have a placenta to clear."

* * *

Petunia comes crying to him three days after Lily came home.

"She no hiss, daddy! I hiss :hello Lily: and no hiss back!" He picks her up and carries her

"Come here, darling. : You can hiss with daddy. It can be our secret language:"

_ You have reduced the language of kings to insignificant babble. _

_ And garter snakes do worse every day. Go! My daughter needs me more than you. _

:se'cet langwage?:

"Mhm. Special talk." He dries her cheeks as she starts to giggle. 

"Can Lily special tawk?" 

"Not yet," though to be fair, Petunia had been hissing from day one. It made him worry more than he probably should.

"What if Lily no hiss ever?" Thoughts of Lily never experiencing the joy of magic twisted his heart, because he knew what that felt like. Tantalizingly close, yet never obtaining satisfaction. 

"Then we love her anyway, Tuney."

* * *

_ Menfre, Chang'an, Paliputra, Teotihuacan. Doppelganger was wandering the magical world, searching for every last scrap of magic he could find. Shame that no matter where he went, he looked for the darkest magic available. Tom could think of a thousand other things that he’d’ve looked into that Doppelganger dismissed as weak and useless. _

_ It seemed that in this episode of Voldemort Television, he was back in Russia, looking for some artifact related to “Koschei the Deathless.” A medieval Khan who nested his soul in an egg. Apparently Grindelwald had used the cover of Hitler’s Barbarossa as an opportunity to seize the fabled object, and failed. Rumour had it he tried to replicate anyway, all results fruitless. _

_ Looks like Doppelganger engaged in flight from death after all. Background hissing alerted him to another presence, and if he strained his ears, he could almost hear its words. _

“Tom?” The world recrystallized and his magnifying lens nearly crashed. 

“Arresto Momentum!” What was Newt doing here?

“Don’t you have a symposium at the Welsh Reserve?” Newt averted his eyes.

“Tom, that finished this morning.” He bolted out of his chair, and glanced out of the shop windows to the setting November sun.

“Don’t worry, I locked the door when I noticed you sleeping.”

“You could’ve woken me.”

“You needed the sleep,” he replied, as though it was obvious.

“Newt, I need an open shop and revenue!” Thoughts of impending taxes, loans, and groceries flooded his mind.

His son’s inheritance was off limits. 

He barely noticed how Newt had momentarily flinched before gently sitting Tom down, rubbing his back.

_ He’s treating you like an enraged beast! Smite him! _

_ I’ll take that as a compliment, that’s Newt at his kindest.” _

A summoned hot chocolate was accepted in kind.

“I may not be very good with people,” Newt admitted shyly, “but I figure you still liked your cocoa sweet.” Tom was impressed he remembered the night in Den Helder where they shared chocolate rations.

“Thank you.” This was hard for him to accept. Vulnerability. Being a good father to his three children meant he was pulled in different directions.

Writing letters and sending mementos to his 13-going-on-14 old, Yusuf.

Teaching Petunia the different nuances of Parseltongue (without teaching the naughty words).

Watching Lily learn to crawl without crashing.

And then there was the finances of keeping the bills paid. At home and here for the shop. Balancing the emotional needs of his wife, while respecting his extended family.

_ Staving off your evil twin. _

“Have you built your nest, or are you still migrating?” Newt’s brow is creased. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Every time you’re in Paris, you’re like a Firebird moving from its breeding grounds in Siberia to better pastures in China.”

“I am most certainly not a phoenix.”

“Same family, different genus.”

“I have the shop and our home here.”

“And yet you’re often in Paris, Dakar, London, or Montreal trying to...relive the past.”

_ I have no past. _

“Do you know your neigbours?” That’s rich coming from him.

“Ivy does.”

“That’s not the same.”

“What about your customers?”

He knew their names and their needs, and that was enough. Lawrence Fisher with his tuberculosis, Anne Wright for her daughter’s rickets, Tobias Snape and his sciatica. Looking at Newt fidgeting meant that he wasn’t satisfied with Tom’s silence. 

“Tom, I know...how hard it is to let...others in. Ask Tina. Why don’t we try something together? Let’s go down to the nearest pub and just sit?” In all his time here, even working at the steel mill, he’d never done that. Maybe he was scared, maybe bored. But perhaps it was time to accept an invitation.

“Ok, give me a few minutes.”

TAP TAP TAP. An owl?

No, a stocky blond man holding a sign.

“Tom? What is...insulin?” 

“Medicine…” he trailed off as he realized who that was.

Terrence Hart, Type 1 diabetic. He scrambled into the medicine cabinet.

“Newt, wait an hour for the pub, I need to make sure this man eats tonight.”

* * *

It took Tom months to get used to chatting with his customers at Spinner’s Tavern, but they were happy “The Chemist” had come around. Yusuf tried to sneak out and join him once, only to be caught by his incoming owl.

Terrence Hart convinces Tom to hire his nephew (‘a recent pharmacy graduate!’) to give him respite, and improve the shop’s service.

Ivy encouraged him to talk to the neighbours, and get to know their kids whenever they stopped by the Apothecary. He began to share his burdens with her more often.

They soon found that there were wizarding neighbourhoods in Liverpool and Warrington, the former’s Islington particularly dripping in Victorian charm. 

Better than the medieval aesthetic that Diagon Alley pushed, but perhaps that’s why Camden Town and Kennington were more frequented by British Wizards these days.

The discoveries removed the constant need to cross the channel for supplies (though his heart still yearned for St. Cloud and Méricourt).

_ I thought you’re supposed to be letting go. _

_ I am. _

_ Clearly. _

Petunia liked the changes immensely. She was a fussy traveller, and liked her schedule simple and life predictable. Which is why Lily’s continued lack of Parseltongue so vexed her.

He finally bought the car they needed, opting to use the WizardRail network for longer distances (“Why didn’t you look for this sooner, it's much more comfortable!” exclaimed his wife.)

Newt was right in his own Newt way. It was time to build his nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underline - foreign language  
> :Parseltongue:
> 
> Désolée - sorry
> 
> halal chicken curry - note that this is supposed to be butter chicken, except that name doesn't become commonplace until 1974 (despite existing since the 40s)
> 
> note- This is 1959 so finding Halal in Manchester is probably far less easy than today (especially if you live in one of the satellite towns between Manchester & Liverpool)


	11. Unforseen Distance

**Chapter 11**

As Tom found himself settling more, he finally began to notice just how restless Yusuf has become. 

It started with their annual trip to watch Man U and Liverpool. His son had fallen in love with Man U’s comeback after losing most of their team in a plane crash a few years back, cementing his lifelong affiliation.

Or so Tom thought. 

It was cold in the stadium that evening, but luckily the crowd’s singing and chanting produced plenty of heat to compensate. Tom wasn’t much interested in sports, but for Yusuf’s sake he was willing to try.

_ “Quidditch is a distraction, Mulciber, my plans require commitment.” “Yes my Lord, I’ll quit immediately.” _

He shook his head, watching Liverpool miss a penalty. Glancing over to Yusuf, he noticed the boy looked distracted.

" _ Ça va, mon fils? _ ” Yusuf strains to hear the question over the droning crowd. 

“Yeah!” he yells back, and makes an effort to show it. Tom is not convinced.

Ultimately Man U loses the game, which makes Tom both sad for Yusuf’s sake, and relieved that the Liverpool hooligans won’t be too angry tonight as the two walk back to the train station. 

Filing out of the stadium, Tom asks his son about the match, only for Yusuf spent half the walk describing how elitist Quidditch was (A roster of less than Forty students in a school with 4200) and the other half comparing the match to Division 1 (Bloody Monaco beat both RC Paris and Reims! The nerve). Clearly, the critique of the winning team in their hometown was enough to draw the ire of some fans regardless, and it took a detour through the Islington Magical district to keep them from heckling the pair.

* * *

  
  


Tom saw the letter’s getting shorter and less frequent. It’s barely noticeable at first, but soon enough, a month goes by without one. Then he started hearing more information about Yusuf from N’deye, Tina, & Newt than directly from the source. The boy doesn’t even write when his football team won their match. Ivy is just as worried, but his brief responses to her homemade goods calm her enough to tell Tom to wait for summer. 

Yusuf walks through the door on a mid-June afternoon, to Tom’s bewilderment. 

“You’re ahead of schedule.” His son drops his trunk in the Living room.

“Not really. I know you had work, so I just decided to come home with Newt.” 

“With Newt?”

“Yeah, he was coming to London for something with animals, so I joined him and Theseus. I hope you don’t mind,” Yusuf shrugs.

Tom very much minds, but there’s little he can do, as Petunia comes running down the stairs and jumps on him, knocking him over. Lily comes toddling behind, as Petunia starts poking his head.

:Ack! Tuney stop!:

:Never Yusuf!: she cries.

“Hisss!” parrots Lily, not truly understanding parseltongue, but hugging her brother’s legs anyway. Ivy walks in, picks up a squirming Petunia, and gives Yusuf a kiss on the forehead.

“Glad you’re back,” she says, as they begin chatting about the school year. 

Despite the upset, Tom does agree with her sentiment. 

* * *

He’d hoped to catch up more that summer, but he only saw his son for a week in June. The boy would go on visit his cousins in Dakar, work on extracurriculars with classmates in the Açores, join Newt and daughter Niccola on a dragon expedition to Peru, and even squeezed in a football match in Reims. 

Lily was oblivious to it, as most two-year-olds are, but Petunia went from sad to mad and back for several weeks. Ivy and Tom did their best to keep her distracted, using the library, playdates, swimming pool, and much to Tom’s chagrin, Diagon Alley to buoy her spirits.

Yusuf got back August 18th, full of energy. How was a mystery to Tom. Lily welcomed him like an old friend, but Petunia’s cold shoulder returned with a vengeance.

:Are you going to say hi, Tuney?: asked Yusuf.

:No!: The boy pulled out a paper bag.

:Tuney, I brought back macarons, and I was hoping to share.: She was trying her best not to look at the bag.

:Oh, I see you don’t like them anymore. I guess I’ll have to eat them all myself.:

“Nooo! Please don’t eat them all,” she cried, hugging her brother tight. He handed her the bag as they laughed.

:Why are you so big now?: hissed Petunia.

:Cause I’m growing up, Tuney.: he replied. 

:No. Ssstop now! I can’t poke your head anymore.: she pouted. Yusuf laughed.

:I can.: Tom says, poking his son’s cheek.

“Tch! Papa, stop! You’ll give her ideas!” Tom was just relieved to have him back this year. He’s fifteen and already exploring the world. He watches Ivy and Yusuf try this new “chicken tikka masala,” and wonders how many moments like this do they have left.

* * *

“ Surprise. ” Yusuf’s room is a flurry of paper scraps, semi crafted metal, Senegalese print cloth, and football posters.

“Oh!” he jumps, knocking a paper pile over.

“Did I forget to fold the laundry? ”

“No, just wanted to see you.” Yusuf looks confused, dark orbs reflect back Tom’s own. He’s brown as a nut from all the summer sun he’s seen, and his curly hair is poufing. The boy is becoming a man, and Tom wonders how it happened.

“Well, you’ve seen me.”

“Funny.” 

“I’m serious,” he huffs, “I’m busy.”

“In the summer?”

“It’s a project.” 

“I thought you finished that one in Portugal 3 weeks ago.”

“Papa, it’s a big project.”

“Does it have to do with this mask here? It’s really beautiful.” He picks up the bronze, inlaid with silver and gold, etched in repeating glyphs. Tom catches the faintest blush.

“Oh that? I’m prepping for the Runes O.W.L.”

“You could make a living with this kind of metalwork.”

“And runework. That’s really in demand these days.” 

“Is there anymore training you’d have to take after Beauxbatons for that?”

“ Well, there’s a program in Bavaria that’s ok, and Uncle Amadou knows a friend who works for the one in Timbuktu. ”

“Are you ready, then?”

“I’ve got a few years.”

“They’ll fly if you spend it only playing football.”

“ I’ll have you know that it is perfectly possible to balance sport and study, ” says Yusuf, grinning. 

“ Is that what they told you in that Football Captain’s letter then? ” Tom smiles at Yusuf’s enthusiasm.

“ It came? They picked me? ”

“While you were away, and it appears so. It’s on the kitchen counter,” Tom smirks. 

“ Super! Merci Papa!”  Yusuf bolts down the stairs as Tom finally sees that his little Basilisk was getting too big for his cave. 

A scrap of parchment at his feet catches his attention. It’s been ripped out of a bigger letter, with two lines in Yusuf’s hand.

Mers El Kebir

August 20

He’s heard that name before, but where? At the store? The pub?

“August 20?” Tom asks, as his son renters the room to snatch the offending paper.

“ It’s our meetup day to finish the project! ” Yusuf blurts.

“And how are you getting to Mers El Kebir?” the boy blinks and tries his rhetoric voice.

“Well father, WizardRail from Liverpool certainly is an option. Then it’s a hop from Dover to Paris.”

“Yusuf, that requires you to leave tomorrow afternoon. You just got here!”

“ This can’t wait! ” The volume escalates.

“You aren’t even packed!” Tom’s eyes are shifting.

“ Papa, my friends’ li- marks depend on this project!” He’s invoking Ivy’s temper and his own mother’s loyalty. He just wishes it wasn’t against him.

“I’ve barely seen you this summer, mon fils.” He hates pleading.

“And if you keep yelling at me, then you’ll see me at Christmas.”

_ My, you have a classic slytherin. _

_ Burn in hell. _

One breath, and his eyes are dark again.

“Yusuf, I know you care about this project, but please don’t go to Mers El Kebir.” They lock eyes. 

“ Whatever. I’ve got evening prayers now, ” the boy sighs and slinks off to the bathroom.

Tom knows that isn’t a yes.

* * *

Tom is convinced that Yusuf is going to wait for him to fall asleep and slip out.

So he tells Ivy he wanted to catch the evening radio. Despite the occasional footfalls coming through the ceiling, Tom doesn’t hear anything suspicious like opening windows.

Eventually his boredom and exhaustion lead him to actually turn on their old radio, relegated to the corner since the telly arrived. Flipping through some channels, he finally settled on the news. Pathé was usually a good listen.

“...and in France, the largest migration since the end of the war is well underway. Hundreds of thousands of Pieds-Noirs are filling the streets of Marseille, while the Foreign Legion retreats to it’s last Algerian enclave, Mers El Kebir.” Tom doesn’t believe he heard correctly, but when the announcer repeats it, he switches it to Wizarding Wireless, and moves for the stairs.

“Since March, 80% of Wizards and Witches in Algeria have been forced to leave the country, labelled collaborators regardless of race, age, religion, or blood-status. Most Pied Noirs have already left, while others have fled south to the league of Mandé. Despite the rush, some 8,000 native Algerian Wizards are stuck in limbo at Mers El Kebir.”

His son wanted to go to war, save the innocent, follow in their footsteps.

One war was enough.

By the time Tom rips open Yusuf’s door, he only finds the ministry’s trace owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man U Plane Crash - Real thing that happened in 1958, quite tragic 
> 
> Football - This is a British setting, you're getting the British term (not American Football!)
> 
> Mers El Kebir - Former French Military Base in Algeria, it was the last bit of land the French owned there after giving the country independence in 1962 (the current year in the story)
> 
> Pathé - Old time radio and film news
> 
> Pieds-Noirs - White French Algerians
> 
> Mandé - Creative license; this is the Magical equivalent of Mali


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

“I don’t care that it’s after hours I need to place a phone call!” The operator fumes, but transfers anyway.

“Hello?” comes the groggy response.

“Tina, thank Merlin! Have you seen Yusuf tonight?" 

"No, he left Paris yesterday morning." She sounds unamused. 

"Well then I'm reporting a missing child." He can hear her deadpan stare through the phone.

"Tom, my littlest brother in spirit, I am not the only Auror on the planet. Go bother the DM-"

"Yusuf and ten classmates are headed to Mers El Kebir with a mountain of portkeys to evacuate everyone they can find."

"Are you drunk?" 

"I have correspondence that includes several kids from the French elites. Roxanne Reine, Celestin Keita, Raphaël Delacour…"

"Oh hell, that’s the minister’s son! The Upper Camera's been arguing about MEK for days, but they're still deadlocked. Hang on, I'm sending someone to get you."

_ Odd that they only jump when someone they care about is in danger. _

_ You’re only in it for yourself, so don’t you start. _

_ Get off your high horse, you aren’t better than them. If Yusuf were still in England, you’d’ve done nothing. _

Tom ignores his internal demon, and weapons long forgotten come out of their hiding places. While assembling them, he pulls the crucifix from its drawer. 

“Tom, it’s late, what are you doing?”

“Going to the police station, Yusuf’s missing.” He’s not going to say where, one of them needs to be calm...ish.

“Why, are you taking those, the police can handle themselves.” An apparition pop is heard outside, and Ivy’s eyes widen with understanding. She knows not to ask further.

She kisses him quickly.

“Bring him home,” she whispers.

He'd make sure Petunia and Lily saw their brother again.

* * *

A thin line of grey marks the horizon as the auror team portkeys onto the beach. It's a quiet only filled by lapping waves. Tom can make out little flashes of activating portkeys a mile away. Which means others can too.

After convincing Tina that he would be essential to rescuing the children and refugees, the auror gave him a glamour and assigned him to tend to any wounded they came across, just to stabilize them. Only when they approached the camp did they realize just how important that would be. 

House elves were popping from tent to tent offering a portkey to every witch, wizard and squib in sight. There’s a girl in hijab running alongside them, sitting down and talking with a family here, an elder there, perhaps translating.

Even still, there are dozens of persons lying around, simply waiting to die. 

Tom wishes he’d brought more bandages and medicine.

“They even left the house elves,” whispered an auror to his left. They hail one down to take them to the kids.

He sees Yusuf, Souleymane, and two friends frantically handing out portkeys to elves and humans while a smaller fifth one scans the horizon, wand at the ready. The translator stops by, before scurrying off again. They’re so engrossed in their task that they almost fail to notice the approaching aurors.

“Do not fire! The ministry is here to help ,” shouts Tina from behind him. The short sentinel spins, wand lit anyway.

“ Raphael stop! It’s the aurors! ” Yusuf calls, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“ Yeah, here to arrest us!”

“Enough, Raph!” Everyone turns their heads to the girl in brown hijab, her dark eyes faintly glistening with tears. 

“ Please, Mesdames et Messieurs, there are soldiers on the other side of the hills, and they want us gone. We are just trying to help!” Her voice mingles desperation and conviction, and even in the dim light, you can see her standing tall, her wand in hand.

“Well, you heard her,” cries Raphael, “ Do your job and help us save these people! ” 

Their combined rallying cry startles them to action. Tom quickly begins applying bandages to gunshot wounds, and rubbing alcohol on infections as the aurors begin directing the remaining refugees to their escape hatch. He hears old ladies muttering surahs and terrified children clutching their parents as he leads them to the makeshift medical tent with help of the abandoned elves before releasing them to the portkey team. 

He sees his son running alongside the girl from before.

“You are in so much trouble when we get back,” Tom mutters as Yusuf passes by. He spins, startled. 

“Papa?” he asks, confused. The girl also, turns, confused at her companion’s pause. Yusuf turns back to her assuringly. 

“ Fatima, go, I’ll catch up! ” She nods, and slips by.

“ Who are you? ” Yusuf asks. 

:Open your eyes, young basilisk. You’ll need them.: The boy stumbles back, and in the pre-dawn, Tom sees his son’s eyes shine in shock.

:I told you I had a project.: He chokes.

“And I asked you not to go.”

“It’s worth it. My friend’s lives matter more,” the boy replies, hugging Tom fiercely. He will have to hear the full story when they’re done. He covers while Yusuf and Souleymane slip out for quick prayers, and the work continues.

Grey becomes pink, and the crowd thins, and Tom hopes the portkeys won’t run out. Tina tells him that reinforcements are coming in less than an hour. The other girl, Roxanne he believes, snaps photos to Tom’s surprise. When he chews her out for not helping, her reply surprises him.

“I’m showing French wizardry who their government failed. You can’t change what you can’t see.” The snapshots continue.

* * *

They have less than a thousand people in line when Tom notices something stirring on the eastern hills near the muggle city. Auror LaPlante moves to start erecting more shields when a green blast of light knocks him dead.

_ Avada Kedavra! _

Chaos sets in. The aurors are joined by some refugees with their wands, but Tom begins pulling Raphael and Celestin to the next portkey out. 

The crucifix burns as he realizes he just missed a bullet to the neck.

Spells and artillery blaze across a narrowing gap as Tom empties magazines into the hills. The scent of blood is carried on the wind, and the attackers are using the rising sun as cover. 

He needs to find Yusuf and Souleymane. N’deye will kill him if he doesn’t. 

He sees them shielding an elderly couple as they rush to the portkey site. Tom runs to meet them when he sees fighters closing in. Yusuf whips out his wand and fires offensive spells at their attackers, as Tom sees them drop their wands and pull out their muggle weapons. He sees Roxane whip past to grab Souleymane and the couple, but that leaves his son open, and his legs aren’t working fast enough.

BANG! Smoke billows from a rifle.

Tom watches the world slow 

bullets and spells fly toward his son’s inadequate shield.

Tom’s too far to grab him.

He can’t make it.

“YUSUF!!!!” Tom tastes blood in his throat.

Then his screams are drowned out by lightning.

The bolt emanating from his cross round his neck arcs across the field, colliding with the shield spell moments before most of the artillery clangs against it. 

The energy supercharges the Protego, blasting Yusuf back towards Tom. 

Gold, blue, and purple crackle in the air, tasting of familiar magic. 

Magic he saw at Juno Beach.

“Léonine?” he whispers as his son slams into his chest and they both tumble down an embankment, the remaining projectiles sailing above them. 

Tom spares no time dragging his son back to the aurors. Yusuf’s delirious from the bullet in his arm and the cuts on his legs. And Tom has a burn scar from the flashes of lightning protecting their retreat. 

He hears the crack as spells deflect, and feels the heat on the cracked ground. Scars long healed rip open and pains long forgotten stab at his spine.

His eyes swim with red-black blood dripping from his scalp as he urges his body to take one more step, 

one more jump, 

one more breath.

He doesn’t notice when the auror puts the pairs’ hands on a portkey and whisks them to safety.

* * *

“ Are you alright, Uncle Tom? ”

He wants to tell Souleymane to bugger off, but his nephew is just as worried about Yusuf as he is.

_ No he’s not, you’re his father. _

_ What’s this, you actually offering comfort? _

_ Even “hellspawn” has its moments. _

This wing of the Flamel estates was transformed into a makeshift hospital, with the renowned wizard and his wife leading treatment. Tom had been a relatively easy case to treat, despite the dark colour of his hemoglobin. An old blood curse was the best hypothesis the ancient alchemist could come up with on the fly. Yusuf on the other hand had more blood loss and broken bones than first believed. Hence why the two relatives were waiting outside. 

“ I’m fine, Souley. Now, before you hear it from your mother, 

What the hell were you thinking? ” The boy steps back and gulps. Tom is glad the glamour hides the red eyes.

“Um, see, it was Yusuf, Raph, and Roxanne really. I think one of their friends from Algeria went missing, and then one thing led to another, and voila?” he finishes weakly. Tom doesn’t have the energy to be mad, so he glares a minute before giving him a hug.

“Mr. Evans?” The pair turn around to see the rest of Yusuf’s cabal huddled together, and mostly unscathed. The short boy with chestnut hair speaks up.

“We, well...merci for saving us out there.” Mumbled nods and thanks added by the other two.

He looks past them to the refugees he’d been helping barely two hours ago. The looks of relief on their faces remind him of Caen, Antwerp, Paris, Den Helder.

“No,” he replies, “thank you, for choosing to act when we did not.”

“There’s still so many others out there we couldn’t help,” mumbles dark skinned Celestin. It’s a sobering thought. For every life here, how many were lost out there to the conflict? 

“Thank you anyway…for giving it your all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for delaying my posting schedule, there was supposed to be a Christmas special (its like 3 chapters away), while this more somber chapter was supposed to appear weeks ago. 
> 
> This story was begun partially inspired by Remembrance Day, so in that spirit, I wish to honour those lives lost and upended by the Algerian War of Independence (1954-1962). What I've described is not enough to understand the full scope of the war so I recommend you research the causes and events.
> 
> Lest we forget.


	13. A Fortnight of Revolution

**Chapter 13**

“We had a friend, named Idris,” explained Yusuf, propped up in his sickbed.

“He was from Algiers. See last winter, he went home over the holidays and didn’t come back.

"Is that why you stopped writing?"

"Yeah, no. Maybe? It was rough when we found out he and his family died." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." Yusuf shrugs.

"Friends help. Some other students like our friend Fatima-”

“The translator?” Yusuf nods.

“Well she and others were scared about going back, but the school didn't know what to do for some reason. So one time when Professor Flamel came for a lecture, we got together and begged him to take the Algerian students." 

"Which he did?" 

"It took him a minute but yes, thank God." 

"Then how did it become this expedition?" 

"Well, the Evian accords in March. No one knew what would happen to wizards, but then we heard they were all labeled collaborators and things got bad. Fatima got news from her family that they were going to a warded camp near Mers El Kebir, along with almost everyone who couldn’t get out."

"Still don't see how you got involved."

"Raph, Roxane and I were out one night after football practice, talking about what was happening and we thought, 'what if they all had portkeys to get out?'. So we talked to Professor Flamel." 

And so Tom listened to the details of their escape plan, how they would create the portkeys, how to distribute them, where they would stay, and who would help. Yusuf admitted to having to wing it when Tom had discovered their plot.

"I still want to scold you."

"But you won't because you love me?" Tom laughs and holds his son's hand.

"Nice try, I love you anyway." It's familiar for them.

"How did you do that lightning thing?" Tom pulls out the crucifix. 

"Really dad?" He chuckles at his son's skepticism.  


"Just take a look at it." Yusuf takes it and twirls it in his palm.

"There's magic woven into it!" He exclaimed. 

"Your mother's," Tom says softly. 

'I told you it would work,' comes the voice of his late Aunt Mary. 

N'deye and Tina found the two talking about Leonine’s war stories. 

* * *

When the news breaks in the Étoile Quotidienne, French Wizardry fiips on its head. 

Headlines of the muggle war, previously suppressed to the wizarding public, blare from the rooftops of Montmartre, nearly breaking the Statute. Anger boils over, the scars of Grindelwald reminding the populace what comes from inaction. Protests form outside Les Invalides, the main entrance of the Ministry. 

The first few days are mired by inadequate platitudes as the roar of the mob grows louder. By Wednesday the 22nd, Minister Daniel Delacour is forced to resign, inadvertently shamed by his own son. 

Roxanne Reine’s photos of the rescue and firefight become icons of ‘62, and Tom groans when he sees the photo of his son protecting his nephew become the people’s favourite.

Then come the legal consequences. All the students are expelled from Beauxbatons for planning “Revolutionary activities” on campus, a taboo in place since the 1790s. Flamel is fired for assisting and forced to flee the country when the Gallic Unspeakables seize his estates as “Refugee Housing.” Tom and Yusuf lodge with the Scamanders for the week awaiting verdicts.

Tina resigns the Auror corps when she hears that her superiors plan to prosecute the children and strip them of French citizenship. Place Cachée reacts with horror at the threat. Protestors break the statute of secrecy in Tarbes and Bordeaux. Obliviators scramble to save it. 

In the space of five days, Tom watches a ministry, a city, a nation, on fire. 

Yusuf does not apologize for his actions, and backs up Celestin, Roxanne, and Raphaël publicly in excoriating the ministry for indifference over its jurisdiction. It electrifies the protestors for days. It’s only on Saturday, when bricks start flying that Tom finally convinces Yusuf to go home.

It takes the swift action of new minister and war hero, Aurélien Dumont, to reign in the chaos. Between his appointment on Saturday night, and his first public address on Monday morning, he opens a National Assembly for changes to the constitution, accepts all the refugees from MEK, rehires Tina Scamander as the head of the Bureau des Aurors, and rescinds the criminal charges on all the students involved in the “Mers El Kebir Affair”. 

But some damage is already done. 

N’deye decides to re-enroll Souleymane at Ouagadou, as do Celestin’s parents.

Fatima is spared by her friends taking all the blame, knowing she’d otherwise be separated from her family again.

Not all of them are so lucky.

Raphaël runs from home after ‘a fight of epic proportions’, while Roxanne is disinherited. Both somehow end up in Tom’s living room on Tuesday. He blames Yusuf’s silver tongue.

Somehow Tom traded two weeks of vacation for a fortnight of Revolution.

* * *

“You’re sure we shouldn’t just contact Professor Flamel?” asks Roxanne, picking at the tablecloth.

.

“He could be anywhere in the world, we need an answer now!” barks Raphael.

“Raph, relax! McGonagall’s letter should be here later this afternoon,” assures Yusuf. The other boy begins to pace before flopping back on his chair.

Personally, Tom sympathizes with the teens; he too, hates being on standby. 

When it became obvious that they wouldn’t be able to take fifth year in France, Yusuf wrote the Deputy-Headmistress asking if his offer was still open and flexible to include two others.

Tom doesn’t like that Yusuf may cross the likes of Albus Dumbdoor, but right now beggars can't be choosers. 

He will still silently grumble about it.

Given the short time frame, they’d prepared everything they would potentially need for the year, save the books. 

Hence the lounging teens in Tom and Ivy’s kitchen.

“I wish the robes weren’t so itchy,” muses Roxanne.

“I’ve heard they don’t have football, which I think is ridiculous!” exclaims Raphaël.

“And we’ll remedy that,” counter Roxanne.

“I just hope we can get tutoring from Flamel for the classes they don’t offer,” replies Yusuf.

“You mean like your metalworking?” jokes Raphael.

“Do you know how many hoops at Gringotts I had to jump through just to be able to continue? Ugh, bloody mafia!” huffs Yusuf.

"Language!" chides Ivy.

“It’s their only source of income, of course they're concerned,” explains Roxanne.

“I get it, the system’s not fair to them either, I just wanna make sure I get into Timbuktu!” 

“Oh great, another corrupt ministry, just what I needed,” mutters Raphaël.

“Ack! Who’s poking me?”

Lily giggles and runs away. She thinks Raphaël is fun to bother, while Petunia delights in Roxanne’s camera whenever she can.

In a month of surreal scenes, Tom welcomes this placid one.

A grey owl appears on the horizon, and in five minutes, Tom has them in the car to Liverpool, hoping the _Flourish and Blotts_ branch would still be open.

* * *

A grey line marks the horizon, though this time Tom’s biggest concern is making King’s Cross before 11. 

_ You can’t escape it. _

_ What, you heathen? _

_ Hogwarts of course. _

_ Ugh, it’s too early to deal with you. _

_ I’ll try again at tea time. _

Three fatigued fifteen-year-olds fumble with their trunks, as Ivy gives them all advice for surviving school (‘Take it from a teacher!’)

Two toddlers wish their brother and his friends goodbye, with promises of Hogsmeade chocolate.

One chemist Squib ties the luggage to the roof, hoping that a 5:30 departure will mean a 10:30 arrival.

For the Kama-Evans family, it is a new day.

* * *

_ “My Lord, it appears that the upheaval is already over.” _

_ “Patience Dolohov. A stone in the pond leaves many ripples.”  _

_ Tom thought Doppelganger’s new hideout was rather tacky. The snake motif was ill-fitting for the cave in the Caucasus. A younger man with a thick dark beard enters Tom’s line of sight. _

_ “Karkaroff, my friend. What news?”  _

_ “The British have elected a new minister. A mudblood named Nobby Leach.” _

_ “Abomination!” spits Dolohov. _

_ “Yes quite,” replies Doppelganger. Toms flesh chills with revulsion at their language. He’s pretty sure this time he’s a snake, as he can’t feel his limbs, and taste overwhelms him. Shame it's mostly fowl. Once again, he recognises a presence nearby, but unlike with Léonine, this one is dulled and...well, less sapient. _

_ “I’ll have Abraxas look into that. As for France, I feel there’s nothing we can do there. For now, we’ll stick to recruitment in Scandinavia and Russia. Karkaroff, have you secured your position at Durmstrang?” _

_ “I begin later this week, my lord.” _

_ “Excellent.” He watches Doppelganger stare at a copy of l’Étoile, the image of Yusuf right on the cover. _

_ “Something troubles you, my Lord?” asks Dolohov. _

_ “As long as that Soul-Egg remains out of my grasp, then there will always be something troubling me Dolohov,” replies Doppelganger, ice mingling with venom. The bulky man flinches.  _

_ “Forgive me my insolence, My Lord.” _

_ “Indeed, Dolohov, I shall forgive you this once. These are indeed trying times.” _

_ Silence reigns as he pulls up the newspaper again. _

_ “I’ll have to keep an eye on this ‘J. Evans’. He reminds me of someone.” _

_ “A potential recruit, my Lord?” asks Karkaroff. _

_ “Not yet, Karkaroff, he is underage. Powerful, but underage. We shall have to wait and see.” _

_ And once again in this short month, Tom screams in fear for his son’s safety. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So real life got heavy, which unfortunately killed my writing mood and editing mood, which meant I hadn't worked on Chapter 16 for a while. But, things are getting back on track, so I can start this up again. 
> 
> Evian Accords - Treaty establishing the independence of Algeria from France  
> Etoile Quotidienne - Daily Star  
> Les Invalides - Old military hospital where Napoleon is buried  
> The Caucasus - Mountain range in Southern Russia, Georgia & Azerbaijan, splits Europe from West Asia
> 
> Until next time  
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is partly going up in homage to Remembrance Day, and me finally putting a plot bunny to paper.  
> Comment and critique!


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